


Poltergeists and Poppy Tea

by lilfinch



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Demons, F/M, Fantasy AU, Ghost Hunting, I just love this ship, Magic, Modern, Paul Matthews F U C K S, Urban Fantasy, Werewolves, Witches, all the feels, endgame smut, ignoring canon obviously, poltergesits, very minor angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilfinch/pseuds/lilfinch
Summary: Paul Matthews probably should have known that he couldn’t escape the fact that trouble followed him wherever he went, but Hatchetfield just seemed so small and harmless.And though Paul almost immediately finds himself dealing with a restless poltergeist and a blue-eyed something that stalks him from the shadows, the cute girl from the local palm-readers shop makes it very hard to hate the town...
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 94
Kudos: 78





	1. walls could talk

**Author's Note:**

> Paul Matthews Can’t Run Away From Trouble Rights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song titles don’t really have very much to do with the chapters they’re just what I was listening to as I wrote that related the most to the vibe just saying

In Paul’s defense, he hadn’t realized the house was otherwise occupied when he moved into it.

It started with the window panes. They shook terribly, sliding open and banging against the side of the house as Paul got ready for bed, rifling through his unpacked suitcase for a robe. Paul tsk’d in disapproval and stepped outside. 

There was no wind, in fact, there was so little wind that the sounds of the nighttime practically buzzed in his ears, loud and graceless and unmasked by the howling of the wind. The chirping of the crickets was sharp and clear, and somewhere a few blocks down a dog’s bark cut through the thickness of the night. 

Paul looked over at his windowpane, which was now tapping lightly against his house and coming to a slow stop. Something caught the corner of his eye, a long shadow that dipped in and out of Paul’s view before he turned around. Paul paused, staring at the azalea bush and trying to decide if he was just making up the trembling of the leaves when suddenly, an intense, icy coldness drenched his body.

Paul couldn’t move, his feet planted in place as waves of cold crashed over and enveloped his body. It was gone after a few moments, and Paul shivered, looking down at his shaking hands.

“Well,” he huffed, his voice shaky and breathless, “that was interesting.”

He stood, barefoot on the front porch and trying to steady his shaky hands, when another rustling sound caught his attention. Paul’s gaze snapped over to the source of the sound, and he let out a small sigh of relief when a rabbit hopped into his front lawn. 

“You know, rabbit,” he found himself mumbling in mild agitation, “I don’t get scared very easily. I hope you can take pride in the fact that you were the first thing to startle me in a few years.”

The rabbit stared at him, it’s nose twitching and ears standing up. Paul exhaled from his nose, shaking his head.

He was about to turn around and head inside, but the sound of growling made him freeze. Something lingered, farther back in the yard, something huge and outlined black against the thin moonlight, a pair of icy blue eyes narrowed in his direction. Paul barely got a good look at it before it bounded silently across the yard in a few long strides and disappeared, the rabbit gone with it.

Paul stared at the place where the rabbit had stood moments ago, his eyes wide and his hands on his hips.

“Well, this night just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

  
~  
  


Paul didn’t have a bed frame yet, that was supposed to ship in tomorrow, so he situated his mattress under the window and watched as the bloated waning moon doused the bare room in soft, silver moonlight. 

As Paul closed his eyes and tried to let sleep draw him into its warm arms, a skittering sound scratched softly against the hardwood floor of the bedroom and Paul’s eyes snapped open. He sat up in bed and found his gaze flicking to the closet door, which was cracked open. 

Paul’s eyes narrowed. Had he closed it before getting into bed? He didn’t remember. He stared at the thin slit of darkness, listening attentively. Nothing. Paul huffed slightly and fell back onto his pillow, flipping around and drawing the thin sheet and his mother's quilt up to his chin, determined to ignore any other disruptions.

That night, Paul dreamt that he was lost at sea, but the water was thick and black, like oil, sliding down his throat every time he opened his mouth to breath and rendering him unable to see anything but vicious pitch black. His ears and head buzzed with a numbing static that, if he focused hard enough, began to sound vaguely like words.

Paul woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding viciously against his ribcage, and the closet door opened just a bit wider.

~

“Do you know where we packed the screwdrivers?”

Paul’s mom sighed on the other end of the receiver. “You packed all of the hardware stuff, Paul,” was her reply. Paul ground his teeth and stared at the Phillips Head in his hand. He really didn’t want his mom to know he had started off badly on the first night he was alone, as she had been so desperate to keep him from moving out.

_ “We Matthews’ have to stick together,”  _ she’d argued.

Paul has rebutted with a faintly spiteful,  _ “you just don’t trust me to be on my own with the Gift yet.” _

_ “It’s not that I don’t trust you with the Gift, I just don’t trust the Gift.” _

And yet, Paul had still won. He was 23, and while he had never really wanted to leave Massachusetts, in all honesty he wasn’t a big fan of change, something in him was telling him that it was time to leave, Gift or not.

Unfortunately for Paul, his mother knew him all too well. “What’s wrong, Paul?”

He squinted into the floorboards, trying to decide if he should abandon ship and make something up about the weather in scrappy little Hatchetfield being sickly hot but he knew it would most likely be a futile effort.

Paul sighed into the receiver, “I think this house is haunted.”

Paul’s mother was indeed the gloating type, and he could imagine the victorious half grin pulling at her lips. However, whatever triumphant urges his mother was feeling, she bit them back and tutted into the phone.

“What makes you think that?”

“Window panes slamming against the house, cold waves of terror, skitting noises in my empty room.” Paul considered telling her about the nightmare, but decided against it in favor of not worrying her. If he was right and the house was haunted, he could deal with a few slamming window panes but a nightmare was concerning. A nightmare implied something more.

Or it was just a nightmare. “Doesn’t sound like anything a little sage scrub won’t get rid of. Though really, Paul, I don’t know what you expected moving into some vine-ridden little house at the edge of the woods. Especially if you’re trying to run away from your Gift.”

Paul sighed loudly into the phone. “I’m not  _ running away _ from anything, mom.”

“It sure seems like you are.”

“One more thing. Do you know if this town has coyotes?”

Paul’s mother snorted into the receiver. “You’re not in Arizona, dear.”

“I know, I know, but…”

“You probably saw a fox. Gosh, you’re getting skittish. Are you sure you don’t want me to come back and get you? You start work in two weeks, you still have time to change your mind, you know.”

Paul’s middle finger and thumb pinched his temples. He was getting a headache. “I’ve got a bed frame to put together, I’ll call you back.”

There was a small pause that made Paul think she was going to try and argue again, but instead they exchanged “I love you’s” and hung up.

Paul looked at the cluttered mess of his half put together bed frame and sighed, pulling out his phone. He opened the Notes app and began to make a list.

_ Moves inanimate objects _

_ Shadowy _

_ Cold-vortex _

_ Nightmares _

_ Huge coyote? Mutant fox? _

_ Wolf???  
Blue eyes ? _

If the nightmare was induced by Paul’s new roommate, he guessed it was a poltergeist, which would definitely take more than a few sage scrubs to get rid of. However, he didn’t want to completely rule the possibility of demon out, though this was probably Paul clinging to the hope that he wouldn’t have to deal with a poltergeist. Spiritual was a little easier to deal with than paranormal.

Paul locked his phone and stood up, scratching the back of his neck. 

He was going to need some sage. And porch lights.


	2. i'm shakin’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Note: I do not speak for the Wiccan and the witch community in any way with this as my understanding of wicca itself is very minimal, I do not wish to offend any wiccans with outstandingly false information as it is not put in here with the intent of being true)
> 
> That being said, Useless Paul Rights
> 
> Also the song is by Jack White

Being a 9th generation witch was not as fun as it sounded. Granted, this was because Paul had never had proper training. Though one was not to undermine the oddly prophetic rambling of his mother after one of her heat spells, the Gift had skipped two generations, and his mother had thought the Gift might have been permanently lost.

That was until Paul Matthews was born, bearing the marks his ancestral family witches had bore. His eyes were startlingly blue, and he was slow to start walking but fast to talk. Animals were constantly interested in him, for better or worse, and his emotions as a kid and especially as a teenager seemed to be very finely attuned to the weather. 

Not to mention he was prone to levitating throughout the house as an infant, a trait which his mother moaned was the reasoning behind his reluctance to start walking. Trouble seemed to follow him everywhere, too, mischievous sprites, minor demons, spirit visitors and ghosts, the like.

However, because the Gift had skipped two generations, nobody in Paul’s family could teach him how to use his powers, and he spent his summers locked in his attic, hunched over his great-grandmother and great-great-grandfathers old notebooks. They were old and gross and bound with worn leather, and Paul was sure some, if not most, of the information on the weirdly stained pages was outdated, but, by 14, he was getting chased around the neighborhood by the ghosts of dogs and raccoons and using his slowly improving levitation skills to get himself stuck in trees.

Paul was told that as per his specific bloodline, levitation and spirit-speaking connections were his family’s specialty. His mother explained to him that every ancient witch bloodline held specific skill sets, that every witch could learn to float a few feet above the sidewalk but only their bloodline of those with the Gift knew how to innately and deeply, every witch could hold a seance but only those with spirit-speaking coded in their Gift could see ghosts and the like every day.

Whenever Paul inquired as to why the Gift had skipped generations, his mother would launch into a frustrated rant about how it was his stupid great-grandmothers fault for marrying a werewolf-hunter, how the presence of such hatred for living creatures tainted the bloodline and as revenge the Horned God stole the Gift from their bloodline for two generations.

Some research into the matter taught Paul that sometimes these things happened, and nobody was really at fault except for maybe either very strong or very weak genes. He was also, for the most part, unconvinced that werewolves and urban legends like such didn’t exist in the first place.

No matter the reason, Paul was stuck with the Gift and a shaky grasp on how to use it and was now alone with all the personal space he could ever need to learn.

Hatchetfield was incredibly small.

Paul wasn’t exactly sure what drew him to the town. Maybe it was the way it was dingy with dignity; it was scrappy and dirty but still held an air of poise and honor that Paul respected. Like it was owning up to the crumbling brick and weed-ridden sidewalks and peeling paint with a small shrug and a nod. Hatchetfield was just verging on charming and Paul liked it.

He wasn’t sure if he should be surprised at how easily he found a witch shop. Another fun thing about tiny towns, one was never completely sure what they would stumble upon. He thought he would have to go to at least three grocery stores to even find white sage, but then a palm reading sign caught his eye and sure enough he was soon standing on the doorstep of Nora’s Metaphysical Nick-Nacks, his gaze flicking across the dazzling array of wind chimes hanging outside of the store that casted rainbow spots on the pavement below them.

He wasn’t really in the right position to question the legitimacy of the place, but hopefully they would have what he needed.

Three bells rang when he walked in, and Paul was surprised to be met with an intense variety of bright colors and stands of crystals and cloths and disorganized shelves of candles and notebooks. At least four different incenses were lit around the store, and almost immediately Paul felt dizzy. He took a quick step forward to steady himself and felt the dusty floorboards groan under his weight. The entire place seemed built on foundations of chaos, and Paul decided that he would be in and out so fast he would barely remember he was there.

That is, until his gaze landed on the woman behind the front desk.

She was leaning nonchalantly back in her chair, her dusty sneaker-clad feet kicked up onto the front counter as she flipped through the pages of what seemed to be a magazine about UFOs. She looked to be about Paul’s age, with her sharp jawline and narrow face and wide, dark eyes. Her ash brown hair was piled in a bun atop her head and she was nestled into her green and blue drug rug sweater.

Paul was 82% sure he had fallen in love immediately.

Her soil-dark eyes slid over to him and Paul felt himself freeze in place, knowing he probably looked like a deer in the headlights.

The cashier let her gaze flick up and down him quickly, and Paul was suddenly very aware of his outrageously patterned purple and black sweater with a dress shirt underneath and jeans (Paul took a strange comfort in ugly clothing that he could never quite determine the reason behind). Despite being a witch, he felt very out of place.

The woman dropped her gaze back to her magazine, and Paul quickly looked away in fear of getting caught staring. He had some sage to find.

He ducked through some unnecessarily loud bead curtains and quickly found sage scrubs. Paul grabbed three and a couple red and white candles, along with some sandalwood incense. Hopefully it was enough for a little bit, just until Paul figured out what he was dealing with.

As he placed each incense stick into a plastic bag, Paul became suddenly aware of the feeling that he was being watched. He spared a glance at the dusty mirror beside him, and sure enough, the cashier was watching him. 

He definitely looked out of place, and it occurred to Paul very suddenly that this was what living in a new town was like, especially one as small as Hatchetfield. Back in Massachusetts, Paul was a weird kid. Of course, he couldn’t tell anybody he was a witch, so he settled for “outsider” and was comfortable with the label. He was still an outsider here, but it was uncomfortable. It still felt like a new role, a new part to play, a new secret to keep.

Paul shifted uncomfortably as he secured the bag shut and began to slowly make his way to the counter, keeping his gaze downward and pretending to readjust his grip on the sage.

“Hi,” he said quietly as the products tumbled out of his arms onto the table.

“Hey,” she replied. She had questions. Her eyes were still sizing him up, trying to figure out exactly if he was buying gifts for his edgy niece’s birthday or what.

Paul cleared his throat awkwardly as she tapped at the register screen. “How are you?”

She paused and watched him for a moment, her eyes still narrowed before she turned back and continued tapping at the register. “I’m fine. And you?”

“Good, good…”

“I’ve never seen you around here.”

“Oh, no. I just moved here a few days ago.”

“From where?”

“Massachusetts. I moved into one of the houses on Privet Drive.”

She paused again. Why did she keep doing that? “I know that street. Which house?”

“The one all the way at the end of the street, on the edge of the woods.”

This time, she froze. Her fingers stopped mid-type and she blinked slowly at the screen.

“That house…” Paul knew where this was going.

“Is haunted? Yeah. I’m aware. That’s why I’m getting all of this stuff.”

She gave him a strange look. She knew she was missing a piece and was testing the waters to see how unwilling he was to give it up. Unfortunately for her, that missing puzzle piece of Paul would not come so easily.

She smiled at Paul as she handed him his paper bag. “I’m Emma.”

Paul’s heart nearly skidded to a stop at the sight, and he managed a tight smile back. “Paul.”

Emma’s gaze refused to leave his. How did she do that? “Well, it was nice to meet you, Paul. Good luck with your ghost problem, and welcome to Hatchetfield.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugly thrift sweater Paul and drug rug Emma should be canon and I’m just gonna say it


	3. electric feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Witchy Paul Rights

Paul let the incense burn while he finished his bed frame, and then did one of the sage scrubs before unpacking his clothes into his closet. Despite the fact that his mom had helped him move into the house half a week ago, it still seemed barren. Paul figured that this was just what living alone was like.

The sun began to dip into the treeline, sending hazy golden streaks across the sky. As if on cue, Paul felt something cold creep up the back of his neck.

Well, almost alone.

He pulled out his great-grandmother's notebook as he lay in bed, flipping through the pages for a sleep protection spell. Paul didn’t use them often, nightmares were uncommon with him, but he figured he could use it to measure how powerful the poltergeist he was dealing with was.

It hadn’t done any rummaging of objects tonight, though Paul would occasionally feel as if ice water was dripping down the back of his shirt and the entire night, as he heated up a sad bowl of Stoffer’s macaroni and ate in front of the TV, Paul had the distinct feeling he was being watched.

Paul stumbled upon one that was supposed to protect him from dream demons, and he figured that even if the entity itself was not similar, the means of passage sure as hell were.

As Paul lit a white candle and closed his eyes, murmuring the incantation under his breath, he could feel the magic flood his senses. He got that familiar itch in his nose, and his fingertips buzzed in a delightful sensation that could only be described as golden. He murmured the spell three times, each repeat getting louder and stronger, until he stopped. 

_ “So mote it be.” _

The moment the words left Paul’s mouth, the candle flame blew out, though not by Paul’s doing, and the cold prickling sensation clashed with the quickly fading tingle of magic in his fingers. Paul shivered and clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists as he waited for the sensation to pass. It did, eventually, but Paul knew that whatever he had done had made the ghost quite mad.

He stood up from his place cross-legged on the floor, picking up the candle and spell book and locking them in a protected case so that the poltergeist couldn’t touch them. The moment Paul sat down in bed, his closet door slammed shut.

“Can you calm down, please? I’m trying to go to sleep.”

Possibly in response, the legs of Paul’s bed frame rattled against the floor, jerking the bed to the side rapidly.

Paul huffed in annoyance and floated himself above the bed before it stopped shaking. “Okay, that was unnecessary. I get that you’re upset, but whatever it is can wait until the morning. I met a very cute girl at the wicca shop today and I would like to survive the night without being launched through a window to see her again.”

The ghost silenced. Paul waited for a few moments, sitting up in bed and listening to the gentle hum of cicadas in the forest. Nothing. He had purposefully not made the sleep spell as strong as he could have, making a test out of it to judge the strength of the ghost. If it penetrated his mind, he knew he would have to step up his game.

With a small shrug, Paul craned his neck around to peer out the window, a habit he picked up back at home when his dog was missing for three weeks and he did nightly sweeps of his backyard before bed.

Something itched at the back of Paul’s neck. The faint awareness that he was being watched, but not the coldness that came with being in the presence of a poltergeist. Something was off about this town, about this place, about these contradicting feelings that followed Paul every night.

He squinted into the treeline, only barely able to make out the fuzzy outlines of the trees in the faint silver of the moon. Was something moving out there? Stalking him? Circling him?

Paul thought of the rabbit from the night before, and the moment he did, his gaze met a set of glowing blue eyes.

They were gone in an instant, leaving Paul to wonder if he was still making things up.

Poltergeists weren’t supposed to give him hallucinations.

“Oh, the life of a witch,” Paul groaned as he thumped down onto his pillow, now determined to stop looking for the trouble that so easily seemed to follow him. This was bullshit, and he was tired. Without any more distractions and the smell of sandalwood incense burning his nose, Paul forced himself to fall asleep.

In his dreams, the static returned.

This time Paul was not drowning, but rather on his feet. Where he was, he could not tell. There was an endless expanse of ashy gray surrounding him, silent and judging.

There was something there with him. Something that flashing across his vision, black and formless, only to disappear before Paul could blink.

It was talking to him.

Or, trying to, at least.

It’s words were painful and garbled and unintelligible and vague, near impossible to make out. The sound drifted across his audible plane rapidly and without rest. He heard the words in his left ear, then his right, then in the very center of his head, loud and screeching. 

Paul’s face contracted in pain and he raised his hands to his ears, opening his mouth to scream but finding the strange, warped tongue instead leaving his lips.

Paul’s eyes widened in terror as he spoke faster and faster, his entire body shaking as he switched between trying to make out the words to trying to silence them. 

They got louder and louder and more unbearable, until they silenced suddenly, and Paul was snapped awake.

As he laid in bed, eyes staring wide at the ceiling, two words echoed in his mind, silvery and hushed yet clear.

_ Help me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kick it up a notch


	4. &run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flirtatious Paul rights ??? Does he know what he’s doing?

Honestly, it was no surprise that Paul found himself back at Nora’s Metaphysical Nick Nacks. Restless poltergeist (and it was definitely a poltergeist, a powerful one at that) or not, Paul probably would have wound up back on the doorstep, watching the spots of colors from the still wind chimes floating around on his hand for a few moments before stepping inside the store.

She was there again.

This time the alien magazine had been swapped out for The Princess of Mars. Emma didn’t look up at the three separate, unharmonized chimes, and Paul roamed around the tiny store, looking for the materials he needed according to his great-grandmother. 

Paul was letting his fingers float over the black candles, feeling his fingertips prickle over each one, when a voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Are you… sensing their energies or something?”

Paul turned around, meeting Emma’s gaze with a surprised blink. He grinned warily.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, actually.”

She laughed lightly, folding the corner page in her book and setting it down. Paul’s smile widened. Emma had a beautiful laugh. Today, she donned ripped, black jeans and a band t-shirt printed with a logo he was unfamiliar with. She looked stunning.

Paul cleared his throat as he walked over to her, “yeah, no, actually, the candles talk to me?” 

Her smile widened and she raised an eyebrow, “oh really?” 

“Mhm.”

“And what, pray tell, do the candles say?”

Paul furrowed his brows in mock seriousness, “oh no, they don’t ‘say’ anything. They sing, actually.”

“Sing?”

“Yeah, which is really uncomfortable for me because I hate hearing people sing.”

Emma gasped, raising a hand to her chest in offense, “you hate music?”

“It’s not like that, I love music. I hate people standing there, singing. Like... musicals.”

“Like musicals?”

Paul nodded his head seriously, “can’t stand them.”

“Well, uh, I’d like to let you in on a little secret, come here.” Paul tilted his head and stepped closer. Emma’s voice lowered into an almost whisper. “Those are actually  _ candles _ you’re hearing sing, so.”

“Oh,” Paul laughed, “I guess you’re right. Won’t have to worry about that, then.” Emma laughed, too. She really did have a beautiful laugh.

“So. Why are you back here so soon? I take it the ghost won’t leave?”

Paul sighed and shrugged in defeat. “Nope. Though, I have made some progress.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… yeah. I have decided that what I am dealing with is a poltergeist.” Emma hummed and nodded. “A restless one, at that.”

“I see…” Emma narrowed her eyes at Paul, and an inquisitive look crossed her eyes. She tilted her head slightly to the side. Her hair was down today, and as her head fell to the side a few strands of hair rustled against her cheek. “Uh, in all seriousness, are you...” She paused and looked at the racks of candles where Paul had just been standing. “Are you actually being haunted?”

Paul scratched the back of his neck, grinning bashfully. “Yes, actually. It likes to move things around my house, douses me in excruciatingly cold terror every now and then gives me nightmares and I wake up in a pool of my own sweat.”

Emma furrowed her eyebrows, “oh, yikes. That’s gross.”

“Yeah, no, it’s disgusting.”

“And do you… practice?” Paul blinked, confused at what she was saying for a moment. Emma noticed his confusion and rushed to explain herself. “Sorry, it’s just… uh, you seem… kind of serious about everything. Nora practices, I mean, she owns the store, but she’s kind of… nuts, I don’t know. Most of the people who come in here think we sell weed because of the incense, you can kind of smell it from three blocks down. And the poppy tea does come close but, uh, I mean you first came in here in this crazy sweater and right now you’re wearing this 80s bus-seat t-shirt so I didn’t know what to expect,  _ still _ don’t know what to expect but...”

Paul snickered, nodding seriously along to her rambling. He wasn’t going to tell her he was a blood witch of course, that natural magic coursed through his body as easily as his own blood, so, practitioner would have to settle. It wasn’t completely a lie, spells were still necessary.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Emma looked down at the countertop, thinking for a moment. “And you have an actual, real life ghost problem?”

Paul nodded, “that and… something else. Not sure about that yet.”

“Well,” Emma said, smirking, “looks like you have your hands full.”

“Oh yes, one hundred percent.”

“Not a lot of free time.”

“I am completely booked.”

Emma bit her lip, looking around the store. “You know, if you want help with your ghost problem, I would be happy to help.”

Paul blinked in surprise, feeling his cheeks heat up. “You would?”

Emma gestured around the empty store, “I may only work here because Nora lets me read all day but I’m sure I learned some things. And I would be happy to learn more.”

Paul’s mind raced. Emma seemed like a fairly normal girl, and fairly normal girls didn’t usually want much to do with Paul. In a rare burst of confidence he’d found himself able to have easy conversation with her, maybe even a little flirtatious, but now he found that his capabilities had been expended. Was this still part of the flirting? Was there even flirting in the first place? Had Paul accidentally charmed this poor, beautiful girl into thinking he was a fun, charming, normal dude?

“Yeah, sure.”

Oh, goddamnit, Paul.

Emma beamed at him, and Paul had to stop himself from clenching his chest and reeling over backwards in a dramatic fit of “overcome with adoration”. 

“Nice! But, since I am a beginner, I will need some lessons.”

Lightheaded (probably from the incense), Paul found himself grinning cautiously. “Of course.”

“Pick me up tomorrow? I get off at 3, I can show you some of the best spots around this town while you explain to me the trials and tribulations of ghost hunting.”

This was probably a terrible idea. The thought of getting poor, sweet Emma roped into the revenge plot of an agitated poltergeist and a stalker-y, amber eyed  _ something _ made sweat bead at the back of Paul’s neck. He felt unease fall over his features, and he opened his mouth to turn the offer down.

“I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumb witch boi


	5. killer queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Motorcycle Paul Rights

_ “Are you scared of it?” _

_ “I’m not  _ scared _ of it, I just…” _

_ “You don’t understand it.” _

_ “Maybe…” _

_ “Paul, bloodline witches require a very specific type of training, training from those who understand the specific magic. Training from those with the exact same Gift.” _

_ “Family members.” _

_ “Exactly. Every witch’s magic is different, especially those with the Gift. I’m an 11th Generation witch from my own bloodline, I’ve been harboring and shaping my Gift since I was a babe. Even so, I’d be completely useless when it comes to own Gift, as our blood does not run with the same magic.” _

_ “I… I understand. What do you… what do you recommend I do?” _

_ “Paul, there’s not much you  _ can _ do, but here’s what I’ll tell you. Those notebooks are your only connection to those who truly understand your Gift. Learn them by heart. And find something that’s worth learning for.” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “Maybe the reason your Gift is so ambiguous is because you haven’t found anything that will truly lure it out.” _

_ “You talk about my Gift like it’s an entirely separate being.” _

_ “In some ways, it is. There’s a disconnect between you and your Gift, Paul. You know your blood specialties, spirit-speaking and levitation, study those for meaning, take what you have and find the bridge.” _

_ “I don’t… I don’t know if I understand.” _

_ “You will in time. For now, push your boundaries, see what you’re capable of, take risks and put yourself in danger and see how your magic reacts.” _

_ “ _ That’s  _ the advice you’re giving me?” _

_ “I’m not a witch therapist, Paul. Just experienced. And my coven leader would probably have my head if she knew I was speaking to other witches and giving them advice. You know how complicated these matters get. Speaking of, would you consider ever joining a coven?” _

_ “Not in a million years, ma’am. I’m not convinced a coven would even want me.” _

_ “Don’t sell yourself short, some covens look for potential in witches like you who don’t understand their powers.” _

_ “With all due respect, ma’am, covens look for magic-favored, not magic born. You’re an exception. You said it yourself, I’d be useless to them.” _

_ “If you say so, Paul. Remember what I said.” _

_ “I will.” _

_ “And good luck.” _

Paul sighed, his hands on his hips as he stood in the middle of his garage. 

“‘Take risks, Paul,’” he muttered to himself, “‘be dangerous, Paul.’ Agree to a date with a cute girl when you’re being haunted.” He pulled leather gloves on his hands and walked to the tarp-covered object leaning against the wall of his garage, fingers curling around the corner of the tarp. “As if you’re not constantly being haunted.” Paul let out a small scoff and tugged the tarp backwards, ripping it off of an old, black motorcycle.

“No turning back now, dumbass.”

Paul plugged his $30 knock off air pods into his ears, putting his playlist on shuffle and sliding into his bike. Hatchetfield was a nice place to ride a motorcycle. Beside the excess of gnats, the roads were almost deserted, and the vine entangled buildings and crumbling brick shacks littering the side of the road just outside of town provided a nice, run down, vaguely creepy aesthetic that Paul appreciated.

He hoped that Emma would be fine with the motorcycle but he figured they could walk around town if she wasn’t, the busiest part of Hatchetfield was barely more than a mile and a half long. The motorcycle had been his “dangerous” and “risky” move to get in touch with his Gift. After he’d met with his mother’s witch friend when he was 14, he saved up for years to be able to buy one. When Paul was 17, he bought it off of his friend's uncle.

His third day of using it, he ran into a curb, braked too hard, and began to fly off of his motorcycle when his levitation instincts kicked in and instead rocketed him onto his neighbors roof, so, he supposed that it had worked in some sense of the word.

Paul parked his motorcycle in front of Nora’s Metaphysical Nick Nacks, feeling the engine sputter into silence under him and tugging his earbuds out of his ears. Paul caught his reflection between the forest dangling wind chimes and looked down at his outfit. He’d opted for a checkered, short-sleeved button down under a black leather jacket and tucked into khaki pants. It was a little less outrageous than what he normally wore, and it  _ seemed _ like suitable date-wear. Of course, Paul hadn’t been on a date in years. He cringed as he pushed his sun glasses up onto his head. Once again, no turning back now.

Paul wasn’t sure if he would ever stop cringing when the three inharmonious bells blared upon his entrance, but this time, Emma’s gaze flicked up immediately and it was followed with a large smile.

She looked beautiful as ever. Her giant black sweater was tucked into dark navy jeans, and Paul’s heart skipped a beat at the realization that she had applied a little bit of makeup. 

“Hi,” Paul said as he exhaled a happy sigh.

“Hey,” was Emma’s reply. “You’re early.”

Paul’s face fell. “Oh, sorry, was that not-”

“You’re fine,” she said with a small laugh, “keep me company for the last six minutes of my shift.”

A relieved smile fell over Paul’s face. “Anything.”

A quirked grin tugged at the corner of Emma’s mouth and she exhaled sharply in a snicker. It did not go unnoticed by Paul, the knowing smirk and the scrunched nose, and he felt like she could read his mind. That, or Paul was the least subtle person in the world. That was entirely plausible.

“Did my ears deceive me or did you drive a motorcycle here? Or is your car just really loud?”

Paul laughed, shaking his head. “I drove a motorcycle here.” Then he paused and his smile twisted into a nervous expression. “I hope that’s okay, because if not we could walk, the weather isn’t that bad-”

“Oh, there is no way in  _ hell _ we’re walking if we can ride a motorcycle,” Emma cut him off quickly, her eyes wide with excitement, “I’ve wanted to ride one since I was kid. I got a longboard when I was 15 because, you know, money, but that didn’t stop me from dreaming.”

Paul smirked and leaned on the counter, meeting her eyes in an action he hoped came off as cool and well-played, “Well, I guess I get the honor of fulfilling your fantasies.”

Emma gave him a weird look but snorted, and it was at that moment that Paul realized the unintended double-meaning in the phrase. His face burned bright red and twisted into horror. “Wait, wait that’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, you dork,” Emma said, laughing lightly at his aghast expression.

The three dissonant bells chimed suddenly, and the two of them turned to look at the front door as a younger girl walked in, texting on her phone.

“Hey, Zoey,” Emma called as the girl made her way to the counter. Zoey didn’t look up from her phone.

“Did you see the motorcycle out front?” she asked, ignoring Emma’s greeting.

Emma raised one eyebrow as Zoey joined her behind the counter, “yeah, uh. This is Paul.” Zoey didn’t look up, still texting. Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s his motorcycle.” This time Zoey hummed in acknowledgment. Emma and Paul exchanged a glance, and she made an exasperated face and shook her head. After a few beats of silence, Zoey finally looked up at Emma, her face completely devoid of amusement.

“Are you going to clock out, or what?”

Emma raised her hands in surrender, “yeah, yeah, I’m leaving. Nora’s doing a tarot spread in the back right now, so let her know I’m gone.”

“Whatever,” Zoey replied, her stare returning to her phone. Paul smirked as Emma rolled her eyes once again and gathered her things.

Paul spared a glance towards the back room, squinting into the small, dirty window and catching a glance of red hair. He figured he’d have to try one out later for himself, to test the legitimacy of the place. 

Emma appeared at his side, smiling up at Paul. It was only then that he noticed just how small she was, and he couldn’t help but smirk.

Emma noticed his satisfied half-grin and raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Paul insisted, but Emma’s suspicion made him snort as he began to lead her out of the store, “you’re just a lot shorter up close.”

_ “Wow.”  _ Emma exclaimed with a surprised scoff.

“I’m just saying,” Paul said with a shrug. “It’s a little deceiving when you’re behind the counter.”

“Do you think I’m standing on a stool or something back there? What is this thought process, I am  _ distraught.”  _ Despite claiming to be so, she was still smiling widely and Paul laughed as he held the door open for her. Emma scoffed as she walked out of the store, “You don’t get gentleman points back for holding open a door for me.”

Paul’s smile didn’t fade, “Oh, then my sincerest apologies, my dear, I only hope that any endeavors we encounter in the near future help to bring me back into your good graces. Can I offer a motorcycle ride in these trying times?”

Emma laughed and nudged Paul with her shoulder, “oh my god, you loser.” She paused suddenly upon seeing the motorcycle, her eyes wide as they slowly ran up and down in it.

Paul scratched the back of his neck, “It probably could use a paint job…” It was an older model, the handles of the motorcycle were wrapped with various safety charms that Paul had made sure he recharged before coming to pick Emma up. He was a good driver but wasn’t willing to risk anything for her. The bike itself was in pretty good shape, a little worn and scratched but still functioning.

“It’s awesome,” Emma said. She looked behind her shoulder at Paul, “but you better have two helmets, sir.”

“Don't worry, I came prepared.” He rummaged through the tiny, removable, hatch-like trunk and pulled out a helmet identical to the one hanging on the handle. Emma smiled as she pulled it on over her head, Paul doing the same. He kicked his leg over the bike and jammed the keys into the ignition, feeling it hum to life. Paul looked back at Emma as he pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes and fished an earbud out of his back pocket.

“Want one?” He held the black earbud out to her and Emma smiled timidly. She looked a little apprehensive. With a comforting smile, Paul added, “I find they help drown everything out.”

Emma nodded and took the earbud from him, their fingertips brushing lightly against each other as she did. “Do I get to pick the music?”

Paul smirked, “But of course.” Emma took a step forward, then paused. She inhaled slowly before placing one hand on Paul’s shoulder and shifting awkwardly onto the bike, pulling her leg over and kneeing Paul in the back as she did.

“Sorry!” She gasped quietly as she slung her leg over the other side of the bike, a sentiment that was dismissed by Paul was a laugh and a wave of his hand. He opened his mouth to speak when he felt Emma slide down the back of the tilted seat (he’d forgotten they were tilted), and end up flush against his back.

Paul felt his face heat up to a searing degree, and he was suddenly very grateful that Emma could not see the tomato-like state of his face. Paul cleared his throat as Emma mumbled awkwardly and shifted in the seat, making herself more comfortable.

“Are you good back there?” Paul asked, trying not to sound at all affected by the situation. 

Emma laughed in his ear, “the seats are tilted.”

“Yeah, sorry. I forgot about that, I’m not used to riding with two people on this thing. You, uh, you get used to it.”

He could practically  _ feel _ Emma’s teasing smile and Paul was vaguely reminded that she seemed to have the uncanny ability to know what he was feeling at all times. This was not helped when Emma wrapped her arms around his torso. Paul stiffened and his knuckles turned white from clutching the handlebars. He was 100% not suave enough to own a motorcycle, and yet, here he was.

“I’m sure I will,” Emma muttered quietly, her lips so close to his ear that they brushed lightly against it. Paul cleared his throat again and rifled through his jacket pocket for his phone, unlocking it and handing it back to her.

“Pick your poison.” 

There was a small Pause before Emma rested her chin on his shoulder and stated, “your playlist is loaded with 80s and alternative 90s and I don’t know why but I feel like I should have guessed that. Either way, I’m curious.” Paul laughed, relaxing as she eventually put his playlist on shuffle, handing his phone back to him.

“Hold on,” Paul said as he revved up the engine and kicked the kickstand back. Emma pulled herself closer into him and tucked her face into his neck. Her breath was warm against the back of his neck and Paul refrained from shuddering. God, she was way bolder than he could ever be. Not that he minded it, just the opposite. 

Paul smiled softly as he began to turn the bike out of the parking lot, feeling Emma flinch and squeeze him tighter. Within a few moments, they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inconsistent Chapter Lengths is not my middle name but it should be


	6. evergreen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) sorry I didn’t post yesterday, I’m posting two chapters today
> 
> 2) the song is by Ryan Beatty
> 
> 3) Aesthetic Date Paul Rights

“Tell me about ghost hunting.”

Paul looked up from the strawberry milkshake he was sipping from, smiling at Emma as she popped a french fry into her mouth.

“What do you want to know about it?”

“I don’t know. What do I  _ need _ to know about it?”

Paul considered this for a moment. Spirit-speaking was not as cool as it sounded, most people could talk to ghosts, being a spirit-speaker Just ensured that Paul was followed by them. Constantly. 

Naturally, he’d done lots of passings and low key exorcisms (and not so low key exorcisms). This would be one of those. They were long and emotionally tolling processes, despite being very cool to watch. Paul had handled one poltergeist before this one, and his living room had been a wreck for two and a half days.

“It’s a terrifying and emotionally taxing process.”

“So you’ve done this before?”

“Once.”

“And how’d it go?”

Paul’s magic had been kicked into high-gear, pulsing vigorously through his body and practically taking over his entire being. It had been almost a battle, and seventeen year old Paul had been incapacitated for days after, exhausted to the point where he had slept for 25 hours. He was absolutely bewildered at the fact that non-magic-born practitioners could do that without natural magic to call upon.

It was years later, and Paul had stopped using his natural powers to do the low key exorcisms and passings, getting better at his spellwork and incantations. However, he would still be shocked if he could handle wrangling a poltergeist without the use of his blood magic.

“It… went. It worked, but it was hard.”

Emma leaned forward on her elbows, her dark gaze biting into Paul’s with wide-eyed interest. “How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“You’ve been practicing since you were seventeen?” Emma blinked in shock and Paul internally cringed. Whoops.

“Yeah, uh. My family has a strong… a strong pagan… uh, lineage.”

Emma leaned back in her seat, grabbing another fry and dipping it into her chocolate milkshake. “That’s badass. So, what’s the deal with the poltergeist, then?”

“There’s not much I can really tell you except for the fact that it’s restless.”

A strange look fell across Emma’s face. “Does that mean it’s mad?”

Paul plucked the cherry off the top of the milkshake, spinning stem between his fingers. “Usually. The one I dealt with was absolutely furious. A revenge-seeker. Most of them are. Poltergeists are spirits that have unfinished business, that are so desperate to stay on the mortal plane to see something fulfilled that they get stuck in a strange sort of limbo, tethered to the place of their death, getting stronger the longer they’re their to get the attention of anyone they can.”

Emma gulped. She seemed paler, and Paul was worried that he was scaring her. “It’s not anything to be scared about,” he tried to reassure her, “well, I mean, I guess I can’t say anything, I’m haunted all the time. I’m used to it.” He chuckled awkwardly and Emma gave him a strange look.

“All the time?” Ah, shit.

Paul gave her a wary smile and held out his cherry to Emma, “want it?” She grinned lightly and took it, popping the whole thing into her mouth, stem and all. Paul cringed.

“That was weird.”

“Says the ghost hunter.”

“I’m not a ghost hunter! I just happen to find myself in sticky situations concerning dead people.” Emma’s smile grew wider.

“I eat whole cherries, you speak Latin and kick spirits off the mortal plane. We both have our quirks.”

Paul laughed. “You do work in what’s essentially a Wiccan shop. I think you’re quirkier than eating stemmed cherries.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Emma said, smiling at Paul. His heart nearly collapsed in on itself. How did she manage to do that to him?

To stop the small blush that he felt rising to his cheeks, Paul took a large gulp of his milkshake. “Speaking of which, how  _ did _ you manage to find yourself working at a Wiccan shop?”

Emma opened her mouth, then paused and closed it. She averted her gaze to her plate of french fries and stared at it for a moment before shrugging and saying, “I needed a job. It’s a small town. I get free poppy tea.”

“Is that- does that stuff… like… is it.” He paused and looked out the window, his face scrunched as he gathered his words. “Is it legal?”

Emma choked on her chocolate milkshake and ducked her head as she laughed.  _ “Yes,” _ she said as she looked up, laughing and coughing.

“Are you okay?” Paul asked, trying not to smile.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Caught me off guard there. I don’t know what kind of operation you think we’re running here but it’s just tea.”

Paul scratched the back of his neck bashfully, “I was  _ concerned _ .”

“And I appreciate your concern, it’s very cute, but unneeded.”

Paul blushed a little harder and Emma hid her smile by sipping her milkshake. The diner she had directed them to was small but cute, it had a little bit of an old-people atmosphere and the menu was nine pages long but Emma and Paul had opted for french fries and milkshakes.

The milkshakes were a little chalky and the fries were over salted but Paul couldn’t care less. Emma sat across from him, smiling at him, talking with him. There was something about her that Paul couldn’t quite pin yet, and the prospect that he still had so much to discover about her made him smile.

Paul paid for the meal after a healthy debate over the bill and the promise that she would get the next one (promise. Promise!). They wandered through town, talking about not much. Emma explained the best spots, the local cafes and rotting bookstores and isolated parks with creepy swing sets that weren’t that creepy in the right lighting. The conversation tended to make its way back to the ghost. Emma seemed quite interested in it, much to Paul’s delight, though there was still the nervous, apprehensive edge that crept into her tone when they talked about it.

“Hey, how long have you lived here?”

Emma tilted her head, “Practically my entire life.”

Paul grinned, beginning to get excited. If he could just figure a little more out… “So then you must know who lived in that house last.”

Emma made a face. “I mean… I guess.”

“If we can figure out who lived in that house and do a little digging then I might be able to figure out the reason it’s still here and how we might be able to help it pass.”

“Oh…” Emma looked down at the pavement, studying the weed-ridden sidewalks carefully before she spoke. “There was an old lady that lived there years ago. I think she died in the house but… I was young.”

“How young?”

“Seven? Eight?”

Paul hummed. “That’s no good. The poltergeist would be a lot more powerful than it is now if it was chained to the house for more than five years.”

“How powerful is it now?”

“Powerful, definitely, but I would only say two or three years. That’s usually when they can interject into nightmares, start being able to really wreak havoc.”

They’d made their way to one of the “not creepy” swing sets. Paul enjoyed spending time with her. It flew incredibly fast, the fact that it was 6 in the evening already baffled him. The sun was just beginning to sink into the horizon and the blaring rays had melted into a brazen honey gold. It made Emma’s skin glow like she’d been dipped in a glittering pool of the golden rays. Paul had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her, so he stared at his feet as he rocked back and forth in the swing.

“So are you saying somebody died in the house recently?”

Paul turned to Emma and smiled at her. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Emma nodded and stared off into the distance, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she thought. “And now she’s tethered to the house… seeking revenge.”

“Seeking  _ help _ .”

Emma frowned but didn’t turn to look at Paul. “Angered into not even being able to pass on to another world.”

“Maybe.”

Emma’s frown deepened. Paul tilted his head to the side. He pushed his swing to the side and bumped into her lightly. She blinked in surprise and looked at him. Her eyes were wide and clouded with an unreadable expression.

“Are you okay?” Paul’s voice was softer than he had thought it would come out. What was the point of whispering when there were only two people for what seemed like miles and miles? It added a layer of intimacy that Paul hoped Emma would not look too deep into, but, luckily, she still seemed caught in her head.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. It’s just…” she sighed and turned back forward, “imagine being trapped there… for years, wallowing in your own anger or hatred or whatever it is that’s keeping you trapped there.”

Paul blinked slowly at her. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine.” 

He suddenly got the notion that Emma was the type of person not to be allowed left to her own thoughts for extended periods of time, as she would spiral deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper…

“I try not to think too much about it, but… for what it’s worth, that’s why I do what I do. To try and help them pass.” This was probably only partially true, a mixture of responsibility and obligation and community. Paul was born a spirit-speaker. It was simply what he  _ did _ . 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

Paul smirked and pushed off to the side again, smacking his swing into Emma’s harder. She swung to the side and the rusty chains rattled and jerked her back. Emma gasped lightly and tightened her grip on the chains, turning to Paul with a smirking glare.

“Really, Matthews?”

Paul’s smile widened and he shoved hard into her. This time, Emma didn’t try to stop her swing and let it collide back into his, sending them both jerking around wildly and laughing. When she got close enough, Paul reached out and grabbed the chain links of her swing with one hand, enveloping his own at the same time and connecting their swings together.

They were still giggling until they realized just how close they’d gotten to each other. Emma blinked in surprise and Paul suddenly got the urge to let their swings go, but he held on.

Emma’s dark chocolate gaze flicked up and down Paul’s face briefly, and she grinned lightly. “Are you planning on making a move, Paul Matthews?”

The question caught Paul so off guard that the chains of the swings slipped from his grasp with a sharp inhale and they were both sent rocking lightly back and forth. Emma laughed as she rocked, her toes dragging in the dirt underneath. 

“You’re a dork,” she laughed. Paul cleared his throat and shot her a glare, though his lip was still quirked up in a smile.

“And you’re mean.”

“Mm,” Emma nodded in agreement, “and please don’t forget it.”

Paul pressed a hand to his chest in shock, “oh no, whatever would the cold-hearted Emma Perkins do if people were to find out that she was a soft ass?”

Emma smiled and stood up, looking behind her shoulder at Paul. “Maybe she’d kiss you. Are you going to take me home now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter is going to be published immediately and I think you’ll find it interesting ;3  
> Also can you tell that I’d spent 40 seconds coming up with a title for this fic and am now struggling to make it relevant :)))


	7. kiss from a rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Useless Paul Rights

Sunset in Hatchetfield was watercolor smears against a golden blue sky. How cliche it was, Paul riding down an empty street, the sun setting behind his shoulder, the roadside a blur of shadowed green, Emma’s forearms pressing tightly against his stomach, both of them listening to Crash Test Dummies. 

In this moment, Paul’s mind seemed clear of ice-cold drenches of terror and rattling beds and glowing blue eyes. He could only focus on the smell of asphalt under the wheels and the scent of chocolate still on Emma’s breath. It was euphorically mind-clearing. Paul felt… happy. Calm. What a strange sensation. It felt so strangely new… or perhaps happiness was such a revitalizing feeling that each time it swelled Paul’s heart it felt like the first time.

The motorcycle settled to a hum in front of Emma’s duplex. She stepped off and pulled the helmet off over her head, grinning as she handed it to Paul.

“I had a lot of fun, Emma,” he said quietly, rivetingly unable to take his eyes off of her.

“Of course you did, you were with me.”

Paul laughed and shook his head as he leaned forward on the handlebars. Emma bent down, one arm slung around his shoulders, and kissed Paul lightly on the cheek. He stiffened, his eyes widening as Emma straightened.

“I’ll text you.”

Paul stared at her for a moment, surprise still raising his features, when he broke into a wide grin. “I’m very glad for that.”

Emma giggled her adorable, relaxed giggle. She was smiling largely when she paused and looked back at Paul.

“Do you… do you want to come in for a little bit? I’ve got old gross beer.”

Paul had to keep his smile from getting any wider. He knew what that meant. That meant she still wanted to talk to him, be around him. She didn’t want the night to end just as much as he didn’t. Of course he was going to say yes to that.

“Old gross beer sounds great.”

Emma led him into her half of the house. It looked just about what he assumed it would look like. Like someone had half-assed cleaning and organizing the place, with all the mildly chaotic air Paul associated Emma with. It was fun. There were random pieces of art laying all around the house that Emma provided no explanation for; flea market pottery pieces, thrift shop paintings in chipped wooden frames. A stack of vinyls sat next to a record player, both of which were under a dead hanging plant. The leather couch was scratched to pieces, there were still some dishes in the sink. The entire house just screamed “Emma.” 

“I like your place, Perkins. You’ve got style.”

She smiled fondly, “I was always told I had just the opposite.”

“Are these just random pieces you like?”

“If I like it, I buy it.”

“That’s a dangerous philosophy.”

They were in Emma’s living room. The sunset outside was quickly fading into deep red, and Paul could see particles of dust floating in the striking color that lit up her room. 

“Dangerous?” Emma smirked. She closed the distance between the two of them in a few swift strides, and Paul’s heart pounded viciously against his ribcage. Her gaze was narrowed, a teasing smile spread across her lips. “Maybe. But I have this fun thing I like to do called trusting my instincts and consequences be damned, it’s a lot more fun.”

Paul was beginning to get the feeling that by “do you want to come in for a little bit” Emma had meant something different. He was not sure, but something felt unusual about the look in her eyes and the grin on her face.

Emma trailed her fingertips up Paul’s biceps and fidgeted with the collar of his button up. Well. This was oddly intimate. Was something about to happen? Paul stiffened. Oh fuck  _ was _ something about to happen?

Emma tilted her head to the side, “why do you look like you’re expecting me to tear your throat out?”

That voice. Something  _ was _ about to happen. Oh.  _ Oh. _

“Are you about to  _ kiss me?” _ Paul asked, his voice a bewildered whisper. Emma blinked once, then broke into quiet, disbelieving laughter. Her hands begin to slip from his neck. “Wait. Wait wait wait.” He lightly grabbed her wrists and pulled them back around his neck. “I’m fucking useless, please go back to whatever you were doing.”

“Oh, I mean, if you don’t wanna…” Emma began to turn away, a mocking smile on her lips. Paul groaned and slipped one hand around her waist, pulling her into him. 

Their lips met very softly. 

Paul’s fingertips hovered lightly over the skin on Emma’s neck, and she, ever the brave one, threw her arms around his neck.

Oh. Whoa.

Emma tasted like how the golden streaks that cut through through the sky and basked the two of them in their burnt dandelion glow looked.  _ That’s stupid _ , Paul thought to himself as he finally got the courage to place his hand on her neck, catching her jaw with his thumb. She was just Emma. Perfect and snarky and pulling away from him.

Paul blinked slowly at her, his face still morphed into what seemed to be a permanent state of shock. Emma’s grin had faded into a soft, open mouthed expression as she quietly caught her breath.

“Emma Perkins,” Paul breathed, pretending like he had a snarky follow up on his tongue when, in fact, he did not. He just wanted to say her name. Whether Emma caught on to this or just didn’t care what he had next to say, she raised herself on the balls of her toes and slipped one of her hands to catch his cheek, bringing their lips together. Paul let his hands fall down to her waist, barely touching her, like he was afraid of breaking her. Paul never wanted to hurt Emma. He would never hurt Emma.

She pushed against him, and Paul was confused for a moment until he realized she was pushing him backwards. Paul wrapped his arms around her waist as he stumbled back and the backs of his knees hit the couch. He broke the kiss and held her gaze as he sank onto the scratched leather cushion, letting his fingertips graze down to the back of her thighs. Emma bit her lip, holding back a smile as she climbed on top of Paul’s lap, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Paul’s chin craned up and he met Emma’s lips once, very briefly, before pulling his lips away and returning with them on her jawline, then her neck, then her collarbone. Emma inhaled sharply and her fingertips drew up and down Paul’s back.

“Old gross beer, for sure,” Paul whispered into her skin. It was so warm, and the feeling of his skin against hers was intoxicating. Maybe this wasn’t beer, but Paul was still drunk on the feeling of her being so close. 

There was something strangely familiar about what was thrumming in his heart and pulsing in his veins, his nose itched, and something golden crawled up his spine.

“Shut up,” Emma whispered, but her voice was so hushed, just verging on a moan.

“It’s not that I mind,” Paul muttered into the crook of her neck, “just the opposite, in fact. You are,” he kissed under her jaw, “everything.”

Emma grinned lazily, “I wasn’t aware that you were a poet, Matthews.” She looked down at him, and then the grin fell. Paul tilted his head in confusion. Emma inhaled sharply, then squinted. “Your eyes are so, so blue.”

Realization hit Paul like a brick wall as he suddenly understood why his nose itched and the golden static feeling throbbed in his fingertips. What the fuck?

Paul gently slid Emma off of his lap, his blood pounding loudly in his ears. Something was wrong. Why the hell had his magic sprung into action? His gaze flicked around the room wildly, looking for danger that his other sense may have been alerted to that he had not, and he was still lightheaded from kissing Emma. He had to get out of here. If there was danger, it was there because of him.

“Emma, I… I have to go.”

“Oh…” Emma’s face fell. “Right. Of course.”

Paul gulped, and shame was hot in his ears. “I just, uh,” fuck, think of a good excuse, “I’d rather take this slow. If that’s alright. Please.”

Emma looked up at Paul, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, which were a little more red. The sight made Paul dizzy and the golden feeling blared in his skin once more. Calm down, moron. “Of course it’s all right, you dork.”

They both stood up, and Paul followed Emma to her front door. She opened it and politely stepped to the side. Before he walked out, Paul let his hand slip to the back of her neck and he kissed her once more, a little deeper than he had expected, so he broke it quickly.

“Emma, in two days there’s a full moon.”

She tilted her head, and something crossed her eyes. She raised one eyebrow. “I’m aware.”

“It’s the best time to confront the ghost, try to get it out. See what it’s deal is, all that fun stuff. Would you… would you like to join me?” This was definitely a bad idea. If Paul could exorcize the poltergeist from his house without tapping into his blood magic, just using the spells and incantations, then it would probably be a miracle, but still, he wanted her there. With her, maybe he could do it. Hopefully. He would have to.

Emma held his gaze for what felt like a long time, an indiscernible expression clouding her features. Then she bit her lip and exhaled slowly. “I would, actually.”

Paul couldn’t keep the smile from growing on his face. He could do this. He kissed her cheek and took a few steps out of the house, turning around and waving.

“I’ll see you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody:  
> Me: the SUN is SETTING and I am NOT GOING TO SHUT UP ABOUT IT
> 
> Also the song they’re listening to is called Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm and it’s very vibing


	8. run boy run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Run boy run but like, the instrumental version
> 
> Shirtless Paul Rights because I am a simple and weak simp for Jon

Paul was still smiling as he fell into his house, slumping against the door when it closed behind him.

“Ghosty,” he yelled through the house, “you won’t  _ believe _ the evening I just had. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever met.” Paul kicked his shoes off and ran a hand through his hair with one hand as he unbuttoned his shirt with the other. “I wish you could have met her, ghosty. She’s got this air about her, it’s just incredible. Her name’s Emma, and-”

There was a loud thump from upstairs. Paul paused and raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Well, no need to be jealous.”

A broomstick flew down the stairs, smacking against the shoe closet and falling flat onto the floor. Paul sighed, shaking his head. “That’s kind of dangerous, you know. You could have broken my ceremonial broomstick. Then I would have to go out and make myself a new one and everything.”

He picked it up and began to carry it back up the stairs when a flash of blue caught the corner of his eye. Paul paused and turned towards the front door, where the glass screen was shut but the front door had been left open. Paul squinted. “I can’t tell what’s creepier, Old Blue Eyes or you, ghosty.” He shut the front door and, after a small pause, locked it.

His broom in tow, Paul clambered up the stairs, tugging his shirt off as he entered his bedroom and chucking it onto his bed. He placed his broom against his altar and tsk’d, “That was very rude, actually, messing around with a witch’s altar. Who do you think you are?” His curtain fluttered in reply. The window was not open. Paul caught the end of the curtain in his hand and rolled his eyes, catching a glance at the moon.

It looked full, but Paul narrowed his eyes and just caught the sliver of black lining the edge. “Almost,” he muttered under his breath. His gaze flickered down to the dark forest, and Paul stiffened. They were watching him now. Extraordinarily blue eyes against the evading blackness. He tried to find an outline of a body, but it seemed to melt into the shadows.

A cold shiver ran down Paul’s spine. “Enough of this,” he told himself, then turned around and pulled the curtain shut. He had to know.

~

The forest probably should have been scarier than it was. The leaves rustled around him and shadows weaved in and out of the trees. Paul flicked the hood of his black hoodie up and readjusted his grip on his crossbow. It was purely for safety measures, and Paul’s muscles were tensed with alert as his eyes flicked around the forest.

He’d grown up in the forest, it was where he’d practiced spells as a kid, where he’d spent the majority of his time. It was the home that followed him wherever he went.

The only scary thing about the situation was the reason Paul was out there that night.

He still felt cold. His body would shiver with the occasional icy tremor and the back of his head was numb with the feeling that he was being watched. It was a deafening sensation.

His breath was heavy in his chest as he stalked silently through the forest, the crossbow pointing towards the ground. Rustling sounds sounded throughout the forest, quiet skitters, chirps. Paul stopped. He closed his eyes and inhaled slightly. Focus, focus…  _ there _ .

A branch snapped loudly behind him, and Paul whipped around, raising his crossbow to his eyes. 

It was standing on a rock. It’s biting blue eyes were wide and stared straight at him, and the moon outlined the shape of a massive wolf.

“Whoa.” Paul’s mouth hung slightly open and slowly, the crossbow dropped. “What the-”

The wolf lunged off of the rock, it’s legs flexed ahead of it. Paul let out a small gasp, but couldn’t react in time. The wolf tackled him to the ground, it’s massive paws on either side of his head and a snarl on its face that revealed glinting sharp fangs. A low growl rose from its throat, and Paul’s breath was quick and frantic. It’s eyes were practically neon up close.

“You’re- You’re not a regular wolf, are you?” The wolf’s eyes narrowed. Paul swallowed and blinked. A small gasp escaped his lips. “Are you my familiar?”

The wolf huffed in his face and stepped off of Paul. He sat up on his elbows.

“Alright, not my familiar. Are you following me?” The wolf stopped and looked back at Paul. He stared at it as it stepped between the trees. “Am I… encroaching on your territory? Do you have something to tell me?” It stared at him with an unreadable expression. “What _are_ you?”

The wolf stared at Paul for a few more moments before it lightly stepped towards, ghostly silent as it stepped over the leaves. It stood and watched, a few feet from where Paul lay on the forest floor. “Am I supposed to help you, too?”

Of course, it didn’t reply. Just stared. Only stared. It was tense, like it was waiting for Paul to make a move. Instead, he sighed and sat fully up, crossing his legs. 

“That’s a lot of responsibility you’re putting on me here, wolfy. If your stalker ass didn’t already know, I’ve kind of got a ghost problem, so excuse me if I don’t attend to whatever it is you want immediately.” It blinked slowly at him. “What  _ is _ it you want?” Nothing. “You’re not giving me a lot to work with here.” Paul shrugged. “If we’re going to take this to the next level we really need to work on our communication skills, you know?” Paul chuckled to himself. The wolf cocked its head. “Whatever. I think I’m funny.”

He began to stand up, averting his gaze to the floor to pick up his crossbow. “In two days I’m working on the ghost, full moon and all. I would say ‘I’ll come find you’ but I’m sure you’ll be there, like always. So, I’ll-” 

When Paul looked up, the wolf was gone, leaving him standing in the darkness, listening to the forest move around him. He sighed and brushed off his sleeves. 

“Not even gonna say goodbye, huh? That’s fine, that’s fine. I’m not offended.” He put his hands on his hips and looked around. “Shit. Where the fuck am I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hee hee! *giddily rubs hands together*


	9. distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song is by beck and it doesn’t really match lyric wise but it’s such a vibe istg
> 
> Also sorry but my own self indulgent tendencies come before moving the plot forward (don’t worry next chapter I’ll kick it up a notch (sorry))
> 
> Paul Against A Wall Rights wtf who Even am I 😩

The dissonant chimes of the three bells sounded like music to Paul’s ears when he walked into Nora’s Metaphysical Nick Nacks. Once again, Emma was reading behind the counter, chewing on the strings of her bright yellow hoodie as her eyes flicked around the pages of a book clearly labeled _Wicca For Beginners_.

“Doing some studying for tomorrow?”

Emma looked up from the book and smiled, snapping it shut. “Hey, handsome.” Paul returned the grin and leaned on the counter, resting his chin in one hand. Emma eyed the book before setting it down. “It was on the shelf, I figured I might as well do a little research.”

Paul’s smile grew. “That’s cute of you. What part are you at?”

“Have you read it?”

“Probably.” He glanced at the book and turned it over. “Yeah, I’ve read this. It’s pretty legit, covers the basic groundwork.”

“Oh, nice. I was just flipping through it, I’m reading the part about possessions right now. I think we should be glad that’s not what you’re dealing with.”

Paul cringed slightly at the thought, “We should be _very_ glad that that’s not what I’m dealing with.”

Emma snickered and leaned on her forearms on the counter, her face close to Paul’s. “Did you just come to say hi?”

He tilted his head. “I came to pick up supplies for tomorrow, actually.”

“Nothing that couldn’t have been done, you know… tomorrow.” She was teasing him. Paul rolled his eyes but his grin didn’t fade.

“Fine, you caught me. I just couldn’t stand going longer than 24 hours without having seen your beautiful little face.”

Emma laughed and tapped Paul’s nose before straightening again, “That’s what I like to hear. Can I help you find anything?”

“Yes, actually. I realized that I’ve run through my stock of dragon’s blood incense, which we’ll probably need for protection. That and fumitory, just for the extra help.” Paul had done some light reading on the matters of ghost eviction after the incident with the wolf. One problem at a time.

Emma scrunched her nose. “Our incense is in that huge wall to the left, and the herbs are right next to those. I’m not sure if we have fumitory on the shelf, though.” Paul looked to the wall, immediately finding the lined shelves of labeled incense. His gaze flicked to the right and he scanned the mason jars of herbs.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said with a small hum. Emma furrowed her brows.

“Though we do have a lot of dried herbs in the back, there’s a limited amount of space on the wall and too many herbs. Follow me.” With raised eyebrows, Paul followed Emma behind the counter. “Nora is on her lunch break for another twenty minutes, she won’t mind.”

“If you say so,” Paul said with a small smile. Emma pushed open the door to the back room, and Paul was welcomed to the set up of a large stack of tarot cards on a table with two chairs on either end.

“This is where Nora does readings. Here,” she pushed open yet another door, and Paul’s eyes widened at the sight he way met with. ‘Nick Nacks’ certainly took new meaning at the sight of random objects and jars of herbs lining the shelves.

“Oh wow,” Paul said in a tone that could have either been impressed or mildly fearful. “This is…”

“A practicing witch’s dream?”

“It’s… it’s definitely something.” A lot to take in, was what it was. The chaotic energies were suddenly back and stronger than ever and Paul began to understand why Emma had chosen this place to work at.

“I love it back here,” she said as she began rummaging through the shelves, pushing random objects carelessly aside to only uncover more.

“It’s quite astonishing,” he said slowly, still looking around. Suddenly, Emma hissed in pain. Paul whipped around as she cursed quietly under her breath. 

“Are you okay?” He asked in concern. Emma was holding her hand and Paul’s reached out to take her hand in his own. She pulled back and Paul froze.

“Sorry,” he said, his eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, really,” she said, offering him a small smile. “The fumitory is behind those silver pentagram bracelets. I probably cut myself on the packaging. My clumsy ass…”

Paul’s eyebrows were still knit together, but he kept his hands in his pockets. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, you dork. Grab the jar for me.”

Hesitantly, Paul moved aside the stack of bracelets and pulled out a mason jar with “fumitory” written on it in red sharpie. He turned to Emma, who was examining her hand. A very thin streak of blood ran down the side of her hand, and she laughed awkwardly.

“My bad.”

“Does it hurt?”

Emma squinted at him and smiled. “You worry an awful lot, you know that? I’m fine, I promise. I have a bandaid in my pocket I can just slap on it.” Paul blinked at her.

“You carry bandaids around in your pocket?”

“I’m very accident prone.”

“I can see that.”

They smiled at each other and sure enough, Emma whipped a bandaid out of her pocket. She tried to open the packaging with one hand, but failed miserably. Paul watched the struggle with one raised eyebrow and a wary half-grin, and he set the mason jar back on the shelf.

“Do you, uh… you need help with that?”

Emma rolled her eyes but smirked and held out the bandage. “Go ahead, Prince Charming.”

He smiled and undid the packaging, meticulously shedding it of the protective wax and placing it on Emma’s hand.

“There,” Paul said proudly. “Does it hurt?”

She grinned at him, “not any more.”

“So then I don’t need to kiss it to make it better?”

Emma blinked, then narrowed her eyes at Paul, thinking. She looked at the ground, then back up at him, then her face morphed into one of poorly-feigned pain.

“Oh, ouch, wait, you know what? I actually,” she inhaled sharply and cringed, “I’m in so much pain, it’s unimaginable.”

“Oh no,” Paul said, raising an eyebrow. “That can’t be good.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Emma shook her head, “it’s very serious. I’m in life threatening danger.”

Paul hummed and clicked his tongue. “You know, that actually sounds more like a hospital-type problem if your life is in peril but… here.” He took her hand and carefully turned it over, feeling Emma watch him with a small smile. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a small, soft kiss to the inside of her wrist.

Paul grinned. “Better?”

Emma tucked her chin closer to her chest and looked up at him through her eyelashes in a pout. “I was hoping for something a little more.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Must be bad then.”

“Oh, terrible.”

Paul tilted his head at her, “you sure you don’t need to see a doctor-”

“Oh shut up,” Emma groaned, smiling as her hands raised to Paul’s neck and she pulled him down for a kiss. Paul grinned into her mouth and his hands found her hips, pulling her close as she arched into him. Paul took a few quick steps back that Emma gladly followed until he felt his back press against the door. Oh, this was new.

He could feel Emma smirking against his lips and she raised herself onto the balls of her feet to deepen the kiss. Paul let out a soft moan and let one hand skim up her body and rest under her jaw, his fingertips only lightly touching her skin.

As if payback for the apparent lack of contact she would be receiving, Emma pulled Paul’s bottom lip between her teeth, her hands falling down to his chest as she slowly pulled backwards. Paul inhaled sharply at the boldness of the move and smirked when she bit her lip and looked up at him.

“Alright,” he said quietly, an eyebrow raised as the hand on Emma’s waist pulled her sharply into him and the hand on her neck raised to the back of her head. Paul twisted and spun them around, Emma laughing as he backed her up against the door, though it was quickly cut off when he pressed a surprisingly deep kiss to her lips. Her mouth opened slightly, and Paul took the opportunity to sweep his tongue across her bottom lip.

Emma let out a very hushed moan and grabbed at the collar of Paul’s purple button up under his black sweater, causing him to break the kiss suddenly. She was panting slightly and looked at him with wide eyes that flicked wildly around his face, but when she flicked her chin up to intercept him in another kiss, Paul ducked his head and let his lips trail slowly down her jaw.

“I don’t really think we’re supposed to be doing this in here,” he whispered, feeling Emma’s jaw clench under his lips. She let out a soft sigh and closed her eyes as her neck tilted to the side to allow Paul more access to her skin. He took the offer gladly and lightly nipped a trail down her neck.

“That’s exactly why it’s more fun,” she replied, her voice a breathy hush. She let out a sighing exhale from her nose as Paul’s fingers trailed up her hips and rested on the small of her back.

“Do you live life on the edge, Emma Perkins?” Paul muttered into the crook of her neck and Emma smiled. He ghosted his palms over her forearms and lightly grabbed her wrists. Before Emma could reply, Paul lifted his lips from her skin and looked down at her with a teasing smile. “Though I guess I already know the answer to that, don’t I, Miss Danger-Prone?” He raised Emma’s hand and pretended to be seriously observing the bandaid.

Emma laughed and tugged her hand away from him, shaking her head. “Rude. I actually like to keep myself in constant danger, just to spice things up.”

“Yeah, you’re in constant danger of yourself.”

Emma glared teasingly at him and drew her tongue over her swollen lips. Paul gulped. “You’re the one that just made out with me in the storage room of my place of employment, I think I would count that as living on the edge.” Mindlessly, Paul thought back to the previous night, of the wolf snarling down at him, it’s piercing blue eyes in a narrowed glare.

“Yeah… very dangerous.”

“Speaking of which,” Emma glanced at the clock behind Paul’s shoulder and she sighed, “Nora will probably come back from her lunch break soon. She’ll kill me if she sees that you’re back here.”

Paul smiled at her and stepped back, letting her open the door for him. “Wow,” he muttered as he grabbed the mason jar of fumitory, “I wonder what she would have done if she’d seen us necking against the door.”

“Hopefully, she will never find out,” Emma said with a small wince at the thought of Nora coming back from her lunch break to find that. “Though you better not have left anything on my neck, Paul Matthews. Then Nora will have to stop me before I strangle you.”

Paul chuckled and flicked his gaze to her neck, looking for any accidental bruises. “I think you’re good,” he confirmed, and Emma gave him a small nod before she led him out of the storage room and back to the counter.

Paul filled a small bag with the incense he needed as Emma took tongs and transferred some of the herbs into a separate bag. He smiled at her as she typed into the computer at the register. Her hair was only slightly disheveled, and Paul decided against saying anything just because of how pretty she looked, with her slightly reddened lips and her wide almond eyes that kept flicking to him.

Paul paid for his items, and as Emma handed his change back to him, he leaned over the counter and kissed the top of her head.

“You know,” Emma said, smiling softly, “it’s highly inappropriate to flirt with employees at work.”

“Oh,” Paul pulled back and smirked, “my sincerest apologies. Getting back into your good graces is much harder than previously determined.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say you're necessarily _out_ of them,” Emma muttered with a small shrug and an eye roll. Paul picked up his bag and tucked his change into his back pocket.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, Emma Perkins.”

She smiled at him, her gaze slowly dragging up and down him before she spoke. “I’ll see you then, Paul Matthews.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands together*  
> Alright let’s do this


	10. ghosting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mother mother song? In my fanfiction? More likely than you’d think.
> 
> Jewelry Paul Rights!!!!! Jewelry Paul RIGHTS! I’m going to S C R E A M

Emma was alarmingly pale as she followed Paul up the porch of his house. He looked at her, concern flicking across his face.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She stared at the door with wide eyes, a slight tremor in her hands. Her gaze flicked up towards the sky, and Paul followed it. The moon was full, but much to his disappointment the night had turned out to be much cloudier than formerly anticipated and thick indigo clouds layered in the sky.

“It’s cloudy,” Emma muttered to him. Paul looked at her, and she gulped and nodded. “Let’s do this.”

He tilted his head but smiled and held the door open, letting Emma step inside first. The moment Paul followed, the door was forcibly ripped from his hand and slammed shut. The icy cold feeling returned like a gust of wind, slamming into them both and spiraling through the house, sending the curtains fluttering and shaking the furniture in the house. Emma let out a small gasp and grabbed Paul’s hand tightly. He pulled on it and tugged her towards him, wrapping his arms protectively around her as the ghost howled through his house.

And then it vanished, as quickly as it had come. Paul’s breathing wasn’t heavy and his limbs shook, but he didn’t let go of Emma, and she nestled further into his tight black turtleneck.

“Well…” He panted, “that was weird.”

Emma was shaking. She looked up at him with wide eyes and managed a wary smile. She was still pale, sickly almost, and she practically drowned in her giant, grey zip-up hoodie.

“Is that not a regular occurrence?” Paul flicked his head up, his gaze scanning around the room as he listened intently. There was nothing.

“Kind of…” He trailed off. Best not to alarm her any more than she already was. “I think we should get this over with as quickly as possible.”

Emma nodded and stepped out of his hold, following Paul as he made his way up the stairs. He glanced behind his shoulder, watching as her gaze flicked around the house. She was wearing a new necklace that she rubbed between her index finger and her thumb, a moonstone pendant that hung at the end of a rose gold chain.

“I like your necklace,” he said as they neared the top of the stairs, and Emma blinked in surprise, as if she had forgotten he was there.

“Oh! Thank you…”

She made no move to further the conversation so Paul dropped it and led her to his bedroom. His bed had been pushed up against the wall and a ouija board was set up in the middle of the room. On each corner of the board was an unlit candle, two dark magenta and two white. A small box was to the right of the spirit board and the heavy scent of dragon blood incense and burning fumitory.

“A ouija board? Is that really how you guys do this?”

Paul chuckled, “it’s the easiest form of communication. We probably won’t really be using it, but it’s absolutely crawling with energies that will help to draw it out and capture it.”

Emma blanched. “ _ Capture _ her?”

“Yeah, how else are we going to get it to calm down enough so that we have a civilized conversation?”

Emma nodded, “yeah, I… I guess that makes sense. We’re not gonna… hurt it or anything. Right?”

Paul let out a small laugh, but shut up when one look at Emma’s face showed genuine concern. “It’s a ghost so… no. We might make it a little mad but hopefully this will just be a clear, easy process.” Paul hung onto that sentence like his life depended on it, and in a certain sense, it did. His love life, at least. If he could go through the process without pulling any freaky magic shit, then things could go back to normal and he could go on more dates with Emma and figure out why his magic was activated when he kissed her that first time. Paul shivered. One problem at a time, Matthews.

“Alright,” Emma said quietly, then cleared her throat. “Alright. How do we do this?”

Paul moved over to the curtain of his window and tugged it open. The moonlight still provided a very minimal amount of light and Paul let out a small sigh.

“Alright, we need to sit down on either side of the board first.” They did, and through the thin darkness Paul could see that Emma was still shaking. She looked sick. “Hey,” He reached over and gently took her hand in his. Emma looked up quickly at him, a tense frown on her face. “This is going to be fine. You just have to trust me.”

She nodded, her gaze flicking nervously to the window. Paul picked up the carved wooden box that lay next to the board and opened the lid, rummaging around. In it lay multiple pieces of jewelry of varying shapes and colors. Emma tilted her head and craned her neck over the board to get a better look at its contents.

Paul grinned warily as he pulled out three earrings and slowly began putting them in his ears. A huge dangling earring with a black tourmaline stone at the end was hooked into his left ear. Emma watched him with her eyebrows raised. “These have all been enchanted.” Not the full truth, they all belonged to great-great-grandfather and great-grandmother and had been infused with energy paralleled to Paul’s Gift generations ago.

“The black tourmaline is to ward off negative energy.” Paul hooked another dangling earring into his left ear, a silver pentagram. “Self explanatory,” he muttered, unused to having to explain himself. A black onyx stud earring slid into the upper cartilage above the pentagram. “Protects from harmful spirits.”

“I didn’t even realize you had piercings,” Emma said with a small smile that Paul returned.

“I’ve been bejeweled since I was twelve,” he said with a small smile as he slid a few rings into his fingers. 

“That’s a… That’s quite a lot of jewelry.” Paul nodded, slipping two orgonite necklaces over his head.

He pulled out a hematite beaded necklace and motioned for Emma to lean over. 

“For me?” She asked, a question to which Paul nodded and lightly placed it over her head.

“For your own protection.”

“This seems like a lot.” Paul thought of the last poltergeist ejection he’d performed, the exhaustion, the strain, the seething anger of the ghost.

“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” Emma gave him a tight smile and casted her gaze outside. The clouds still seemed to be an endless stretch across the sky, rolling over the brightness of the moon and preventing its rays from spilling through the sky. Paul inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “Clear your mind, Emma,” he said quietly. A tense hush fell across the room. Paul’s fingertips tickled with faint static but he ignored it. Not tonight.

She nodded and closed her eyes, her hands resting on her knees. Paul murmured under his breath, quietly asking the Horned God and the Moon Goddess for their presence and assistance. He’d made sure to recharge his altar and fill it with fresh offerings. A small platter of grains and fruits and fresh game, a cup of mead, a handmade bracelet. Beside the Horned God’s was the altar for the Moon Goddess, similarly recharge and replenished with flowers and pinecones and fruit.

Very silently, he expressed his wish to not tap into his blood powers, the Almighty Gift that had been given to his ancestors and passed down to him. Paul hoped it didn’t seem like hubris, and he picked up the box of matches, striking the first one against the box and watching the flame flicker before him.

“Are you ready?” He whispered. Emma nodded.

He lit the first candle, a white one, watching the steady, unmoving flame for a moment before lighting the other three.

“Alright, ghosty,” Paul murmured, “you’re welcome in this space. Now, we can either do this the easy way or the hard way, but the main goal here is to get you where you belong. How does that sound?”

Emma’s eyes were still closed. “Paul,” she whispered, very quietly. Paul squinted at the board, watching the magenta candle flame. Both flickered in tandem.

“It’s here, Emma,” Paul whispered. “Hiya. What’s up?” He placed his hands on the planchette, his eyes narrowing. “Emma, place your fingertips on the moving piece of the spirit board.”

“Paul,” Emma whispered again, her voice shaky and mildly strained. Paul looked up at her, blinking in surprise. Her face had been drained of all color and her hands shook. Her chest fell and rose heavily, as if there was something weighing on it. 

Fear gripped Paul’s throat like icy hands and with a trembling breath he lifted the planchette off of the board, raising the small piece to his eye and looking through the hole.

It hovered over Emma, a vague white energy draping itself over her shoulders, the faint, blurry outline of arms wrapped her chest.

Something snapped in Paul.

“Fuck no.”

The golden static feeling shot through Paul’s fingertips, loud and blinding. Like wildfire, it spread to the entirety of his hands, up his arms, across his chest, crawling up his neck. This was bad. Paul didn’t care.

He stared at the white energy through the planchette until the golden numbness enveloped his entire body, casting a haze across his eyes. The planchette dropped from his fingertips, clattering onto the board and Paul glared at the shape. It was beginning to take form, the blurry white energy sharpening and taking focus. It was hugging Emma from behind.

The golden magic was only amplified by the anger and panic that sat in Paul’s chest.

Vaguely, he was aware that he was levitating off of the ground, his arms spread out as he gathered the energy in his fingertips. It wrapped around him, flowing like his blood, swirling in and out of his lungs. Paul’s eyes rolled back in his head and he reached out, shifting in the air, his fingertips dipping into the white energy. The cold that stung his fingertips contrasted the golden energy, but not enough.

_ “Get off of her.” _

A blinding flash shot throughout the room. The poltergeist dissipated with a screech, the words “ _Emma_ ” resounding through the rooms, weaving in and out of Paul’s ears. Vaguely, he heard Emma yell out, and she scattered backwards away from Paul.

He snapped back to attention, his eyes rolling back to their normal place in his skull.  _ Emma. Magic. Not supposed to do any freaky shit. Oh  _ _god_ damnit. Paul dropped out of the air, landing with a thud onto the floor. He groaned, his vision hazy as he rolled onto his side.

Emma… where did she go?

He looked around the room, trying to push away the fuzzy golden feeling that lingered under his skin. He dully noted that every candle had been blown out as he groaned and rubbed his eyes. The ghost was still here, their protection was gone.

A whimpering sounded from the corner. Emma.

Paul pushed himself into his knees with a quiet groan, and he turned to the window. Emma sat under it, bathed in the light of the moon that seemed to have suddenly appeared from behind the clouds. Something was wrong. She twitched under the moonlight, her hands balling into fists as she groaned. Her body writhed in awkward positions and she clutched her moonstone necklace in her fist.

“Emma?” Paul crawled over to her, panic gripping at his chest.  _ “Emma!” _

She twitched, her face turned away, “Paul,” she gasped, her voice scratchy, “please, please look away, you can’t,” she gasped and let out a pained groan. “It was supposed to work, why didn’t it  _ work?” _

She chucked the moonstone pendant at the wall. Paul rested his hand on her shoulder, her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Emma,  _ please. _ What’s wrong, I-”

“Get  _ off _ of me!” Her voice sank into a low growl and she smacked Paul’s hand off of her, her arm moving at an impossible speed.

Her hand wrapped around his wrist and she turned around, facing him. Paul froze. No…

“It was supposed to work,” Emma said with a quiet sniff, her tense body slacking in defeat.

Tears dripped silently from her ice blue eyes, glowing electric in the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop-


	11. can’t stop now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna kinda give the people what they want
> 
> MAGIC PAUL RIGHTS

Paul was staring at the wolf. 

He let out a small gasp and instinctively scrambled backwards, short, gasping breaths leaving his body.

_ “E-Emma?” _

The wolf stood on all fours and took a cautious step towards Paul, who flinched backwards. She paused and looked at the ground, a small snarl tugging at her lips.

Her head flicked to the side momentarily before her paw kicked at the moonstone necklace that had dropped to the ground. Paul watched as Emma nudged it with her snout before kicking it a few feet in front of her.

Paul’s eyebrows knitted together. “I think… I think I understand. I can help you.”

He crawled slowly towards her, not breaking eye contact as he slowly picked up the moonstone necklace, letting the dangling pendant swing.

“This was supposed to stop it from happening?” Emma blinked slowly at Paul and he continued, the pieces coming together in his mind. “But with the full light of the moon… it was impossible to stop.” The wolf’s electric blue gaze flicked towards the floor and her ear twitched. “I’m taking that as a yes,” Paul mumbled.

He studied the pendant and exhaled shakily. “I don’t deal with moon magic a lot but… I can try.” Paul held the necklace by the rose gold chain, lowering it slowly and letting it pile in the center of his palm. He would definitely have to tap into his blood magic for this, but… Paul glanced at Emma. She watched him with an unblinking stare. He supposed it was a little too late for that.

Paul concentrated on bringing the static golden into his fingers, letting the feeling spread to his elbows. His eyes closed as he pulled a few charging incantations into his mind. If he could just make the existing moon energy more powerful…

His eyes rolled back in his head, and suddenly, Paul could  _ see.  _ The world was made of auras that merely shifted and bumped against each other. Paul’s Gift ensured he could mold it, shape it, grow it, destroy it.

Whispers left Paul’s mouth rapidly, the incantation forming as English in his mind but leaving through his lips as Latin. The pendant raised above his palms, trembling as it hovered in the air without him touching it. Paul shifted his hands so that they faced, open, towards the pendant on either side of it.

_ “I charge this pendant through the Universal Power.”  _ The silver blue of the pendant wavered and grew from its place floating in between Paul’s hands.  _ “To bring the power of the Moon and it’s protective natures into the life of the Bearer. So mote it be.” _

Paul closed his hands around the necklace just as it began to drop from the air. He shut his eyes again and let them roll back into place. He inhaled slowly, feeling the golden static fizzle out on his body. It was interesting that it felt golden, Paul noticed dully, considering that his own aura and therefore the color of Gift was a blazing, intense blue.

His eyes opened. The wolf still stared back at him, her ears pressed down against her head as she leaned back in her stance. Had she been backing up from him? Sadness pricked at Paul’s skin.

“Here,” he said quietly, unclasping the pendant. Cautiously, Emma made her way closer to Paul, the end of her nose tilted slightly downwards and her eyes not leaving his. Slowly, Paul pulled the rose gold chain around the wolf’s neck, feeling her thick grey fur brush lightly against his skin. He clasped the pendant and scooted back a few feet.

The pendant glowed the same electric silver blue that shone in Emma’s eyes as those same eyes closed. The moonlight began to stretch around the wolf’s body, tangling with the blue aura that lifted off of her. The twisting, glowing beams wrapped around her in a blinding white bundle, and then faded.

Emma lay on the ground, breathing heavily, her oversized sweater crooked and hanging off of her body.

“Em… Emma?”

She looked up at Paul, her wide, wet eyes returned to their normal golden brown.

“What  _ are  _ you?” Were the first words to come out of Emma’s mouth. He blinked in surprise.

“What am  _ I?  _ What are  _ you?” _ He asked, incredulous.

“What do you  _ think _ I am?” She bit back, her tone defensive as she readjusted her hoodie onto her shoulders and sank into it.

She sounded hurt, and Paul took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. “You’re a werewolf.” Emma nodded. A thousand questions lingered on his tongue but he bit them down. “I’m a witch.”

“A…  _ witch _ witch?”

“A witch witch,” Paul confirmed at Emma’s suspicious look. “I’m a 9th generation witch, so I have blood magic.” Wrong choice of words. Emma’s eyes widened and hurried to correct himself. “Not like- Not like that. I just mean that my blood is infused with magic. It’s called the Gift.”

Her gaze flicked to the floor in thought. “So you don’t just practice… you…”

“I was born with it.” Emma nodded and Paul cracked a very small smile. “Are you surprised?”

She returned the smile, much to Paul’s relief. “I would probably be more surprised if I wasn’t… you know.”

Paul scooted closer to Emma, crossing his legs and saying jokingly, “Yeah, what’s with that?” She let out a small, barking laugh.

“Alright, well. Where do I begin…” She closed her eyes and tilted her head towards the ceiling, thumbing the moonstone pendant. “It’s sort of a long story…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just think that Paul hovering a couple feet in the air with his eyes rolled back in his head and glowing blue and unintelligibly muttering Latin is really neat :”)


	12. i feel like i'm drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but like
> 
> Emma Rights ?

**Four Years Earlier**

That night there were thunderstorms.

Lightning shot through the sky, jagged and piercing, brightening the forest for milliseconds. Not that Emma needed it.

Her paws flashed under her, moving at a frightening pace. It had happened again. Why had it happened again? She darted between the trees, her fur heavy and matted against her skin as she blinked rain from her bright blue eyes.

Emma took a sharp left and found herself popped into a residential neighborhood. Identical houses lined the edge of the forest, most with their lights off. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked.

_ This is it! _ She’d finally managed to find Hatchetfield. Now if only…

Emma ran, scanning each house quickly, looking, looking, looking…  _ there _ . She recognized the huge, flourishing bed of tulips in the front of the house, each flower bent and swishing rapidly in the rain in the wind. 

_ Jane _ .

Emma leapt onto the front porch, ecstatic to see a light still on in the kitchen. Jane was always such a light sleeper, the storm was probably keeping her up. She scratched at the front door, listening intently for noise in the house. The TV was on, though was quickly muted at the sound of the scratching. Yes!

Emma pushed herself onto her hind paws and clawed at the doorbell until it rang through the house. She sat down.

There was a long silence, and then the house creaked with footsteps. She was by the door, probably looking through the peephole but unable to see anything. Slowly, the door opened, and Jane was outlined against the darkness of the house. She was clutching a baseball bat.

It was at that moment that Emma realized she had no clue how to proceed. She opened her mouth, but a whine came out.  _ Fuck.  _

“Oh my god.” Jane stumbled backwards, taking in the sight of the giant, matted wolf on her doorstep for a few moments before slamming the door shut.  _ Fuuuuuuuuuck. _

Emma could hear the sound of a phone dialing. Was she calling animal services? Shit, Emma should’ve remembered that her sister hated dogs. Frantic, she clawed at the door again, whining. Come on, Jane. Come on, you stupid full moon. Despite the raging storms, the light still shone through the holes in them, and though Emma could feel that the magic that forced her into the wolf body was weakened, she had no clue how to turn back.

Tentatively, the door began to open once more, and Emma whined. Jane poked her bat out, shaking it at Emma in an attempt to get her to leave.

“Shoo...  _ shoo _ , you big dumb dog.”

Come on, you stupid goddamn wolf body just  _ fuck off! _

And then, as if by some sort of a miracle, Emma could feel the familiar silver static tingling spread throughout her body, and the bending moonlight twisted around her body. She was changing, she could begin to feel the rain pelting against bare skin, the wind rustling strands of hair against her face. The twisting light dissipated and Emma lay stomach-first on the porch.

“What the-  _ Emma?!” _

~

“I don’t  _ know _ , Jane! I went home with a guy from the bar last month and then I woke up with this weird bite on my shoulder and two days later I turned into a fucking wolf.”

“Emma, you have terrible taste in men.”

Emma groaned and slumped further into the giant blanket that she was nestled in on top of the counter.

“He was  _ cute _ , I don’t know.”

“You just turned from a wolf into...  _ you _ . You don’t get to defend him, you dumbass.” Emma looked at her feet, mindlessly swinging them against the counter. Jane looked at her and sighed, taking Emma’s hands in her own.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. It’s been awhile since  _ anyone _ has seen you. After high school you just kind of…”

“Yeah,” Emma whispered, “I know. I couldn’t stand being at home and I didn’t have a job. I didn’t really know what to do.”

“I’ve been worried.” Emma looked up at Jane with wide eyes. She had never thought they looked alike, despite everybody telling her they did as children. Jane had longer eyelashes, a pretty smile, darker hair, a light scattering of freckles, and now, most recently it seemed, she wore readers.

“Your glasses make you look like a dork.” At first Emma thought she’d said the wrong thing, Jane never usually took lightly to her jokes when they were cracked in highly inappropriate situations, but she let out a chuckle and smiled.

“God, I know right. I feel  _ old _ . I’m only 26.”

“That is old. You’re an old lady, Jane.”

“And you’re a wolf.”

The gravity of the situation broke the tenseness and Emma’s grin faltered. Jane caught the look. She was always so good at reading emotions, Emma wished she could see minds like Jane did. “I feel like you aren’t as concerned as I thought you’d be.”

A strange look fell over Jane’s face and her gaze turned towards the window that was still being berated with stone-like rain. “Hatchetfield is a strange place in a strange world, Emma. Though this is definitely… weird.”

Panic finally began to set in her chest. “I can’t just  _ be _ like this, Jane. There has to be something, right? Something that will… cure me.” Her eyes grew wet with tears and Jane placed a comforting hand on Emma’s cheek. She’d missed that touch. Before, it had always felt so motherly, but now…

“I’m going to find something, Emma. I promise.”

~

Jane was right, Hatchetfield was fucked. It was old and gross and outside of Jane’s nice neighborhood it was like a failed suburb. Emma’s flight or fight kicked in the moment she woke up the first morning to the smell of eggs and bacon being cooked in the kitchen but she forced herself to stay.

She had missed Jane. She would never actually say that outloud, but she had. Jane had an easy life that Emma simultaneously was repulsed by and envied.

Finding a solution to Emma’s wolf problem, however, was not nearly as easy.

The closest they’d come was finding the moonstone pendant. Emma was fully conscious in her wolf form, it seemed, so the only problem was really controlling the transformations.

They were easiest to control when the moon was not full, but still, whenever a night passed without Emma changing, a sick feeling crawled into her stomach and she felt lightheaded and dizzy the next morning, like she was suffering a hangover.

The full moons were the worst. Emma had less and less control over the changings the closer it got, and she seemed to be completely unable to stop it from happening when the rays from full moon came into direct contact with her skin.

That was why the pendant had been such a blessing. Emma and Jane had scoured every Wiccan shop they could find, Emma had even gotten a job at one. But their luck seemed to be cut out for them when a traveling circus miraculously stopped by.

They’d told the fortune teller their problem, and she had nodded with a knowing, concerned look, and murmured that she had seen the silver touch of the moon in Emma’s aura the moment she had first laid eyes on her, whatever that meant. The pendant had come with a hefty price but it had worked, at first.

Emma could feel it’s magic getting weaker. The hangover-like mornings were gone for about six months, and then very slowly, and very vaguely, they started to come back. Unlucky for her, the traveling circus had left after three days in Hatchetfield.

Once again, they were looking for ideas.

Jane was the one who’d thought to use dark magic.

Jane was the one who’d decided to offer her blood for the purpose of healing Emma. 

Jane had found the old, abandoned house at the end of Pivot Drive, had done the research, had convinced Emma it was a good idea.

Of course, that didn’t stop Emma from blaming herself. It had all gone so wrong, so fast. So, so, so wrong.

When Jane performed the ritual, something… happened. It wasn’t going right. Maybe this was the one thing Jane couldn’t do, the one thing she wasn’t skilled at. Emma didn’t pray, she wasn’t really religious, but she prayed that she was wrong, that the tense, skewered energies she felt in the room weren’t because Jane wasn’t meant for this type of work.

But whatever she had tried to bring out, whatever she had tried to summon, just kept draining blood from the cut she’d made on her arm. Something had fallen over Jane’s eyes as she’d made another cut, and the blood drained harder. Something was wrong.

Something was so, so, so wrong.

Emma screamed. She knocked the candle way, making it snuff out, and had yanked Jane to a standing position, shaking her, begging for her to snap out of it.

“Emma?” She’d whispered, her voice confused and lost as she’d fallen backwards, down, down down, until her head smacked onto the floor and she bled and bled and bled.

Jane died in the hospital that night.

Emma tried to leave, she did, but she kept finding herself back in Hatchetfield, wandering, lost. She’d bought a duplex, re-attained her job at the Wiccan shop. She felt like it was her… duty. To search for answers. Or maybe it was something else.

Emma didn’t know until the day Paul Matthews waltzed into her shop three years later in one of the ugliest shirts she had ever seen. He was nervous but cute. He liked her. She could tell almost immediately, maybe she had picked up a thing or two from Jane.

_ “I moved into one of the houses on Privet Drive.” _

_ “I know that street. Which house?” _

_ “The one all the way at the end of the street, on the edge of the woods.” _

Something had gripped at Emma.  _ “That house…” _

_ “Is haunted?” _

Haunted. He’d said the word haunted. Emma had hoped with all her heart that it wasn’t Jane. That she wasn’t chained to that stupid house, angry and bloodthirsty and seeking revenge for the life that had been stolen from her indirectly by Emma. She’d even stopped by the house night after night in her wolf form, something she had never used to do, watching him, waiting. He was right, wasn’t he?

He was right.

He was right.

Emma had to help her. She had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashbackflashbackflashback


	13. say it isn’t so

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song is by Joe Williams and it stabs me in each individual toe each and every goddamn time
> 
> Sad Paul Rights :((((((

“You said ‘her.’”

“What?”

“You referred to the ghost as her twice.” Emma looked down. Paul’s gaze rose to the window, then he blinked and dropped it back to Emma. “And the bracelets. The silver bracelets. Did you actually cut yourself on those?”

Emma shook her head slowly, not making eye contact with him. “They burned my skin so I cut myself when you turned to grab the herbs.”

“Why did you tackle me, that night in the woods?”

Emma looked up at him, tilting her head. She tried to crack a half-smile. It went unreciprocated. “You did point a crossbow at my face.”

“That’s a good point. And you’ve been stalking me?”

“Not  _ stalking _ . I usually hunt around here, but I guess the last couple of nights I’ve been… checking up on you.”

“You  _ hunt? _ ”

“I’m a werewolf, Paul, you think I can manage a diet on kraft mac n’ cheese and ramen?”

Paul didn’t reply. He met her gaze steadily and Emma tensed under it. “And the ghost is your sister.” It didn’t sound like a question leaving Paul’s mouth. Emma’s jaw clenched and she looked away momentarily.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re trying to help her pass because you think you’re at fault for her death.”

“It  _ is  _ my fault she died.”

“And that’s why you asked me out?” Emma froze. A deep frown crossed her face. “To help your sister? That’s why you’ve… gotten close to me.”

Paul was aware that he looked hurt. He felt hurt. He was hurt. He was exhausted and shocked and… sad. Emma shook her head lightly and opened her mouth to speak.

“Paul…”

“It’s okay,” He cut her off quickly. He would never hurt her. He would never. “I understand. I probably… I probably would have done the same.” Paul stood and held his hand out of Emma to take. The expression on her face was pained but unreadable. She took his hand and he stood her up.

“Paul, it wasn’t… I didn’t…”

_ Use me. _

“It’s okay. I promise.”

She was staring at him with a look on her face he’d never seen before. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her eyebrows furrowed very slightly and her mouth open. She looked sad, too. Paul got the feeling that Emma wasn’t someone who looked sad a lot. Some strange part of him felt vaguely honored that he got to witness it.

Her gaze was trying to decipher him, trying to peer into his mind in that way she was usually so good at. Paul didn’t understand. She _had_ used him, hadn’t she? What didn’t she get? He liked her, so, so much. He’d promised himself he would never hurt her, and here she was, looking  _ sad _ right in front of him.

Was she waiting for him to yell at her? Something stabbed at Paul’s gut. He could never. How could he lift the sadness from her face? How could he take it from her, shove it deep inside of him, carry around the weight of her sorrow in his chest and hope it didn’t choke in his throat.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” Paul whispered. The sad face and the confused eyes only intensified. It didn’t matter that she’d never liked him. It couldn’t matter. 

“What?”

“I never had any siblings, my dad wasn’t really around. It was mostly just me and my mom. I don’t know what I would do if I lost her like that.”

Emma pursed her lips and looked away in that way that made it seem like she was trying not to cry.

“Jane and I… weren’t as close as…” She was talking slowly, trying to gather her words, trying to find the right ones. “We were very different people. She was so…” A lost expression fell over Emma’s face and her mouth moved without any words coming out, searching for the right one. “She was good. And… capable. Smart.”

Paul flinched forward on instinct to hug her. He stopped himself. What did she want him to do? What did  _ he  _ want to do?

Paul considered it, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in for a tight hug, pretending he didn’t feel her silent sobs into his shoulder. 

But Emma Perkins was not his. Instead, he took one hand in his and prayed it was enough.

“You’re more than you know, Emma Perkins,” he whispered softly. Her gaze flicked up, a hazy, clouded expression lingering within it.

“Not enough,” was the quiet reply. Before Paul could find the right words to respond, Emma’s hand slipped from his and dropped numbly to her side. “Are we going to try again tomorrow?”

Paul stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow is good.”

She nodded, awkwardly watching the floor for a few, tense beats before she began walking out of the house. Paul followed. They were silent, the ghost was silent, the rays of the moon watched and judged as Paul opened the door for Emma. She began to take a step out, then paused.

“I am sorry, Paul. I’ll help get Jane out of your house and then I’ll just… be out of your hair.”

Emma didn’t wait for a response. Paul’s heart sank to the soles of his feet as he stood and stared and watched her rip the necklace off and in a white flash reappear as a wolf. She disappeared into the forest and didn’t look back.

Ah. Ouch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought there wouldnt be at least one chapter of angst then you thought wrong


	14. pliocene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m giving you the Cosmo sheldrake rep you deserve
> 
> EXORCIST PAUL RIGHTS

Paul lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t really want to do this. He wanted to see her, of course, but there was a sinking feeling of dread that emanated around him. He couldn’t think of words to say to her, despite having so many feelings in his heart it felt it like they were going to burst through. Paul groaned and nestled down into his giant tan sweater.

The poltergeist had been silent, but the moment three knocks on his door echoed throughout the house, his bed slid slightly to the side and Paul was doused in ice cold waves of nothing. He shivered as the feeling passed.

“Someone’s eager.”

As he went downstairs, a bright white light flashed through his windows, and Paul opened the door to Emma standing on his front porch in a black and white flannel over a black tank top. She looked at him and smiled warily. Paul stepped back to let her in.

“Hi,” she said as she walked in.

“Hey,” was the reply. Ah, fuck. This was awkward, wasn’t it? Paul cleared his throat. “I probably should have warned you about the cold vortex. That’s what you were feeling, right? Last night.”

Emma nodded as she followed Paul up the stairs. 

“Those occur when the ghost is right near you, or, on top of you. I guess. When you go through it.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“It’s a common occurrence.” He led her into his room. The ouija board had been re-setup, the candles were placed, and Paul already had some of his jewelry back on. “Should we just…” he looked around awkwardly, hating every second of this, “get right to it?”

“Yeah. Yeah sure.”

They sat down on either side of the board,  
Emma’s gazing flicking around the room as Paul relit the candles.

“You have a welcome presence in this place, J-” he stuttered, staring at Emma. Her jaw clenched. “Jane Perkins.” The magenta candles danced wildly. Emma watched them. “She’s here.”

“I’m going to let go, Emma. Of my hold on my magic. So that I can see her without using the planchette. It’ll be… easier for me.” Emma nodded. Her face was pale.

Paul closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. His magic was jumping at his fingertips, and he relaxed his muscles and let it spread quickly through his body with hot, pulsing static that throbbed through his veins.

“Okay,” he muttered, just to have something to say, almost as if he was trying to prepare Emma. His eyes slid back into his head. The silver blue aura of Emma shone in his gaze, and he could see the hazy, shapeless, white form of the ghost hovering above the ouija board.

“Hello, Jane Perkins,” Paul murmured. Emma’s energy flickered in alarm.

Paul focused his energy into his eyes, his shoulders straightening as he directed the golden static through his face. The blurred form began to take shape. He could see her legs, her feet floating above the board, her arms dropped by her sides, and her head hanging down. She was staring at Paul.

The magic flooding through his limbs lifted him to a standing position, the tips of his toes just skimming the floor, his energy whirling around his body like a blazing, blue hurricane. Paul tilted his chin up to meet Jane’s gaze. Through the hazy white of her form, it was clear something was wrong. Her eyes were black, spinning with inky, misplaced darkness.

“She died possessed,” Paul stated, more for himself than for Emma. Jane nodded slowly. “I can take it out.” Jane’s pitch black gaze narrowed at him. She was frowning. Her mouth moved, and though no sound came out, Paul could hear it echoing in his head, the one thing being a spirit-speaker seemed to be good for.

‘Free me.’

“I can do it. If I do, you leave.”

‘You have a deal.’

Vaguely, from below him, Paul could hear Emma call out for him. Jane’s head twitched to the side.

‘Get it out of me, witch.’

“I need you to be still, whatever you do.”

Paul’s arm’s raised, and he balled his energy at his palms. He inhaled, forcing the pulsing golden out through his body, whispering a cleansing incantation under his breath. Only pure energy could be used to rip an evil spirit right out of its vessel.

He could do this.

A scowl of concentration set over Paul’s face and his open palms hovered on either side of Jane’s head. 

“Relinquo, thot.”

Paul fired the energy outward from his palms. Jane’s form twitched sporadically and pained effort fell over her paper white features. The inky black spirit dwelling in her eyes moved like angry water, swirling around. Paul’s face contorted and he focused, pushing the crystal blue energy out harder.

Jane’s mouth opened, and with a deafening screech, the pitch black dripped from her eyes and her mouth, crawling towards Paul’s palms. He shivered in disgust as the last of it inched out of Jane’s features and gathered at his hands, beginning to slide up his fingers to suffocate the energy pulsing out of his palms.

Paul released his hold on Jane and she pushed backwards. He had to act quickly.

Paul already his arms out by his sides, his eyes staring straight ahead of him as incantations streamed from his mouth at a rapid pace. “Ego eieci te!” I banish thee. He clapped his hands together and the black energy dissolved into thin air.

Paul let out a small groan and dropped out of the air, collapsing onto his hands and knees as the intensity of the golden static dissipated so that it was there, but only vaguely. 

“Paul!” Emma yelled out, fear twisting in her voice. He paid her no attention, looking up at Jane.

The definition in her features had dropped in intensity along with Paul’s grip on his magic and she had returned to a blurry white form. 

“We had a deal.” The ghost ignored him and she turned around to face Emma, who was staring at him. “We had a deal, ghost,” Paul growled again as the ghost sank to her knees in front of Emma.

‘Please, witch. Please. Just for a moment.’

Paul fell silent, trying to control his heavy breathing. It stung in his lungs. Finally, he let out a shaky sigh and nodded.

“Fine. Fine.” His gaze turned to Emma, who looked very lost and a little frightened. “Emma, pick up the planchette.” She blinked at him, hesitant, before she carefully picked up the small moving piece on the ouija board. “Look through the hole.”

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but she slowly raised the piece to her eyes. She blanched immediately and dropped the piece from her fingers.

“I-Is that…”

“Your sister would like to talk to you.”

Emma took a deep breath and raised the piece back to her eye. “I can see her,” she said breathlessly, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips, “Paul, I- I can see her!”

Paul grinned softly, his breath beginning to even out. “Are you going to say hi?”

“I can…” Emma looked at Paul quickly, “I can talk to her?” He nodded his head. “Right. Alright. Uh. Hi.”

‘Hello.’ Jane whispered back. Emma stared blankly at her and it was then that Paul stupidly remembered that only he would be able to hear Jane’s end of the conversation. The ghost turned back to glare at Paul over her shoulder and he sighed.

“I have to- alright. Yeah, alright. Uh, she says ‘hello,’ Emma.”

Emma nodded lightly. “Um, I don’t… I don’t really know what to say.”

‘I’ve missed you.’

“She says she misses you.”

Emma exhaled shakily. “I- I miss you, too.” There was a small pause and Emma shivered. She looked down for a moment, then inhaled sharply and looked back up through the planchette at Jane. “I’m sorry, Jane. I get that you’re here because you’re… because you’re pissed at me for k-killing you.”

‘You didn’t kill me, Emma.’

Paul opened his mouth to translate but Emma continued. “I want to help you move on, I need to make it up to you, and so I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry, Jane. God, I’m sorry.”

Jane reached a blurry white hand out and cupped Emma’s cheek. She shivered. 

‘I didn’t stay because I… wanted revenge.’

Paul hurried to translate, “she says, ‘I didn’t stay because I wanted revenge.’”

‘I stayed for you.’

“‘I stayed for you.’”

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed. “What does that… what does that mean?”

‘I’m afraid I left you in a worse state than when I got you.’

“‘I'm afraid I left you in a worse state than when I got you.’”

‘I wanted to protect you, Emma, but I couldn’t leave this godforsaken house.’

“‘I wanted to protect you, Emma, but I couldn’t leave this godforsaken house.’”

Emma let out a short, dry laugh. She sniffed and rubbed one eye with the back of her hand quickly. Paul averted his gaze.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, Emma. I had to make sure you would be fine.’”

“‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, Emma. I had to make sure you would be fine.’”

Emma bit her lip and looked at the ground, thinking, then she looked back up. “I’m getting better at using my powers. I’m getting a stronger hold on when I turn and stuff.”

‘I’ve seen you in the woods.’

“She said, ‘I’ve seen you in the woods.’”

‘Scaring the witch.’

“‘Scaring the witch.’ Hey!”

Emma laughed. Paul smiled softly. That was a nice sight to see. “I try my best.”

‘He seems nice.’

“‘He seems nice.’ Thank you.”

“He is nice. He’s helped me so much. I don’t know if I… I don’t know if I could ever repay him.”

Emma was looking at Paul now, an unreadable expression across her gaze. He smiled at her softly. Jane looked between the two of them.

‘I should go now. I made a deal with the witch.’

Paul startled. “Oh! Uh. She says that she should go.”

Emma blinked in surprise. “So soon…” she said sadly. “I’ll miss you, Jane.”

‘I’ll miss you, too, Emma.’

“She says she’ll miss you, too.”

Emma’s watery eyes widened. “I love you, Jane.”

‘I love you, too.’

Emma looked at Paul, and he smiled and nodded in confirmation. She let out a relieved laugh. Paul held one hand up, focusing his energy at the opposite side of his body. Jane placed her fingertips on his palm and nodded.

With one whispered incantation, Paul shot his energy through his body, his arm, his hand, his fingertips, and as it exited his body, it fired through Jane. She dissolved slowly and silently.

Emma watched through the planchette, staring at the place where Jane had been for a few more moments before she let out a soft sigh and dropped the game piece to the board. The magenta candles blew out without anyone touching them.

Paul and Emma were silent for a moment. Finally, he closed the circle he had casted, watching as the white candles flickered out.

They both stood and Paul began taking off his dangling earrings and necklaces, leaving the helix stud in. Emma was the first to speak.

“Thank you, Paul.”

He smiled warily as he set the jewelry down into the box, “Thank you, for helping me with my ghost problem.” Emma let out a soft laugh and Paul grinned and looked at the floor.

She gulped and inhaled sharply. “Really, though. Thank you.” Emma took a step towards Paul. He blinked in surprise.

“Of course.” His voice was hushed. Emma bit her lip.

“You know, when I asked you out that first day, it was because I… wanted to know about Jane.”

A knot formed in Paul’s throat. “I know,” He replies. Emma took another step forward, her gaze on the floor.

“But… you’re something else, Matthews.” He cocked an eyebrow and Emma tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. They were about a foot apart and Paul found his breath inexplicably heavy in his chest. “Me inviting you into my place, the break room… those weren’t. Those weren’t me trying to know more about Jane. I like you, Paul. I’m sorry that I used you and I understand if you don’t want to see me again but… I do.”

Paul tried and failed at forming words on his tongue and instead he closed the distance between them, his hand raised to cup her jaw as their lips met. Emma inhaled sharply, surprised, but slid her arms around the back of his neck and deepened their kiss.

“I like you, too, Emma.” Paul said, his eyes slowly reopening when they separated to breath.

“Thank god,” was the whispered reply, and pushed her chin up to reconnect their kiss. His fingertips skimmed Emma’s waist and, with a small groan, she pushed herself onto the balls of her feet for more contact. Paul smirked into the kiss and ran his palms up and down her sides.

Emma sighed breathily and bit her lip when Paul pulled back. He took in her tired eyes and her flushed face. One hand brushed her cheek lightly and the other tucked a hair that had fallen from her loose bun behind her ear.

“You’ve had a long night, Emma Perkins.”

“I have.”

“Do you want…” He paused, considering what he was asking. How to phrase this in the least suggestive way? “Do you want to stay the night?” Emma quirked an eyebrow and Paul cursed himself. “Just so you don’t have to be alone.”

She smiled softly at him, understanding. Always understanding.

Emma kissed him once more, softly. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

“Anything,” Paul whispered. “Anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annaoop I am just really soft for these two


	15. ultralife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT WARNING! Smut after the “~”
> 
> Listen *I* am saying long chapter rights and also saying Hnng Hot Paulkins Rights

Paul let Emma rifle through his closet for pajamas while he cleaned up the mess from the exorcism, and he went downstairs to get water while she changed.

Paul could hear Emma’s footsteps tapping lightly down the stairs while he leaned against the counter, sipping from his ice cold glass. He peered to the left, feeling his heart immediately sink into his stomach at the sight of Emma standing in the entrance wearing Paul’s giant, largely unused, dark brown wool sweater. It hung almost past her knees, and Emma smirked at Paul’s wide-eyed, frozen state.

“This is a comfy sweater.” She said casually, sliding next to Paul and slipping his water cup from his hand, taking a few sips. He finally seemed to recover and gulped.

“If you want it, it’s yours.” Well, that was a little hasty. Paul hurried to follow with, “I mean, I never wear that. I don’t like dark brown on me.”

Emma set the glass on the counter and looked down at the sweater. “Are you sure you don’t just want me to keep it because you like seeing me in your sweaters?”

Paul bit his lip as she stepped closer to him, her hands leaning on the counter on either side of him and a mischievous look across his face. Paul shrugged.

“You know, that could definitely also be it.”

“Yeah?” Emma lifted her chin up slightly and Paul felt his gaze drag down to her lips.

“Yeah,” He whispered, and finally closed what little distance there was left between them. Emma inhaled sharply as he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, his hands falling to her waist. She smiled into the kiss and let a long sigh stream from her nose, melting further into Paul with an exhale. Her hands moved to his neck, one thumb running along his jawline.

He swung her around, and Emma scooted onto the countertop, digging her fingernails into his skull. Paul broke their kiss, smiling softly at her as his mouth returned to the side of her neck, his cheek brushing against the fabric of his brown wool sweater as he nipped at the soft spot in the crook of her neck. Emma let out a soft sigh and hooked her legs tightly behind Paul’s back. 

He slid her off the counter, his hands sliding below her waist to hold her up. Emma was thankfully tiny, and she held onto Paul tightly as he made his way upstairs.

She trailed her lips up and down his neck as he climbed the steps, sucking on the skin right above where his pulse throbbed heavily. Paul’s breath caught in his throat and he narrowed his eyes to concentrate on the steps in front of him.

“If you don’t stop with that I could drop you right down these stairs, Emma Perkins.” He muttered as he reached the last step. She snickered lightly into his skin and, without warning, bit down on his neck. Paul let out a low groan and rushed to the wall, pushing Emma against it, grinning at the small gasp that escaped her lips.

“That was just mean,” he whispered, kissing her once more to stifle her mischievous giggle.

Emma slipped from his grip, settling gently on her feet as she tilted her chin up to deepen the kiss. “Are you planning on taking me to your bedroom anytime soon, Matthews? I didn’t really peg you as an ‘against the wall’ kind of guy.”

Paul smiled and tilted his head, kissing the inside of her wrist. “I can be surprising, Emma.” She laughed lightly and held his hand as he led her to his bedroom. Paul pushed Emma into his bed, grinning as she laughed. He kissed her, softly this time, beginning to feel the familiar golden numbness rise into his fingertips, and he sat up.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth. I’ll be right back.” Emma nodded, kissing him once more before Paul headed to the bathroom. He couldn’t stop the smile that lingered on his face, and the blaringly hot water that he washed his hands in clashed with the golden sparking in his fingertips. Paul raised his hands up and watched as a faint ripple of blue ran down his arms.

He took his shirt off, leaving him in sweatpants, and returned to the bed, smiling softly at the sight before him. Emma had fallen dead asleep, breathing softly, basked in the faint moonlight. Her moonstone necklace rested on the mattress and her mouth was slightly open. Paul let out a breathy laugh and laid by her, turning the opposite way.

There was a small groan, and then the bed creaked as Emma sleepily turned around and pressed herself against Paul’s back. He let out a breathy, laughing exhale from his nose and turned around, wrapping his arms around Emma and pulling her closer as she nestled into his chest. They fell asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing.

~

Paul woke up to ice. Fear tightened in his chest, and at first he thought the ghost was back. Immediately, Paul twisted around, his hands swiping across the bed to find Emma, but he relaxed when his palms rested upon her skin.

It was her hands, Emma had ice cold hands. Paul groaned and squirmed out of her touch.

“You’re so cold,” he mumbled sleepily. Emma laughed lightly. It was so early. The sun was just beginning to peek through the blinds, cresting orange into red, smooth and soft and subtle. Emma stroked her ice cold hands across Paul’s back and he shivered and curled into himself.

“Stop,” he moaned, his voice cracked with sleep. 

“You hogged all the blankets,” she replied, her voice still creaking with the same tired gravel, “it’s your fault I’m cold.” She flattened her hands against his shoulder blades.

Something in Paul’s fuzzy mind sharpened, and with a hiss he spun around, catching Emma’s wrists in his hands as he rolled on top of her. Emma’s eyes widened instantly and the tiredness was immediately replaced by a taunting surprise and grinning curiosity.

Paul was snapped out of his sleepy delirium and he froze, only seeming to now realize exactly what he had done.

“S-Sorry,” he stuttered, though he made no move to climb off of her. A faint smile crawled upon Emma’s mouth and she looked at him tauntingly through her eyelashes.

“You were right. You  _ can _ be surprising.” Paul blinked in surprise and smiled lightly. Emma tilted her chin up and, taking the hint, Paul met her lips in a soft, fuzzy kiss. There was something surprising about the drowsy intensity of the kiss, and both of them drowned in the feeling of it. Paul pressed forward, lowering his body further onto Emma’s, his fingertips digging into her wrists as she arched her back, desperate for more contact.

They pulled back only when it was absolutely necessary, breaths heavy in their chests as they stared at each other with wide eyes that flicked wildly over the others face.

Emma slipped her wrists from Paul’s grasp and raised her hands up quickly, both of them inhaling sharply as she pulled the back of his neck down. Paul’s forearms dug into the mattress on either side of Emma’s head as they kissed once more, an strangely deep kiss that Paul never wanted to end.

Emma broke it, an unfamiliar look clouding her eyes. Paul couldn’t stop staring at her, at the way she shone in the pale red sunlight, at her bottom lip as she pulled it slowly out from between her teeth, listening to her warm breath, heavy in her chest.

“Paul,” She said, her voice thin and panted.

“Emma,” He replied, slowly. She pulled him back down, her lips parting slightly. His mouth hovered over hers for a few moments until Emma finally kissed him lightly, her heavy-lidded eyes half open.

“What do you… what do you want,” Paul whispered, lowering once more to meet her swollen lips but diverting and moving to her neck. Emma let out a soft moan that sent electricity crawling down his spine.

Her fingernails scratched down Paul’s ribs as she muttered, “You. You, Paul. I want you.”

Paul supported himself on one arm as he pulled back slightly from Emma. His other hand traced down her side, ghosting over her knee and playing with the hem of the giant brown sweater. “This?” His voice was nothing more than a hushed breath from his lips, but the question was clear.

“Yes,” Emma nodded, running her hands through Paul’s hair, “please.”

Anything. Anything. A tiny grin curled at the corner of Paul’s mouth and he pressed forward to kiss Emma as his hand trailed softly under her shirt, his fingertips lightly tracing over her stomach. She let out a sharp inhale and arched slightly into his touch, causing Paul to spread his palm flat against her stomach and push her down into the mattress.

Emma’s eyes were pleading when she looked up at him, breaking their kiss. Paul’s smile widened and, giving in, he pushed the sweater up her body. Emma let out an impatient huff and reached down between them, her arms crossing as she pulled the sweater over her head and chucked it on the floor. 

Paul inhaled sharply at the sight before him. Emma, laying under him, completely bare from the waist up, in nothing but her underwear. He hadn’t realized there had been close to nothing under that giant sweater, and Emma flushed at the shocked expression on his face as his icy blue eyes ran up and down Emma’s body, taking her in almost greedily.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paul said at last, causing Emma to let out a relieved exhale and pull his face to hers to kiss him. She really was, bathed in honey maroon sunlight, her breath a little heavy in her chest, her parted lips a little swollen; Paul swore he’d never seen and never would see anything that quite matched the beauty of Emma Perkins.

“Yeah,” she said, softly, “I know. I know.” Paul smirked and cupped Emma’s jaw with one hand, letting it slowly trail from there down her body. Tracing over her collar bones, lingering on her breasts, filling his palm with the gentle curve and drawing a very soft moan from low in Emma’s throat. Encouraged by the very tempting sound, Paul sucked at her collar bone as his hand traveled down further, now running teasing circles around the insides of her thighs.

“Paul-” Emma began in mild frustration, but the sentiment was cut short when Paul moved his mouth down to her breasts and his hand slipped under the band of her underwear. The pad of his middle finger ran a light touch through her folds and Emma let out a small gasp at the combining sensations. Paul drew his tongue over her nipple at the same time his fingertips found her clit and pushed forward, moving in slow, deliberate circles. 

He could feel Emma’s body tense ever so slightly under him, and her grip on his hair tightened as she closed her eyes and bit her lip. Paul moved his mouth to her other breast, repeating the process and adding a small nip to the underside as his touch against her clit sped up.

Paul listened carefully. Emma was mostly quiet, her body trembling ever so slightly and he followed her deliciously disrupted breathing patterns and short, stuttered gasps. Each shallow inhale was like music to his ears and he switched his fingers, letting his thumb quicken a pace on her clit as his middle finger sank into her folds. Emma did groan this time, an extraordinary sound that was punctuated with a slight shudder. Paul smiled into her skin and sped up, curling his finger against her walls and pulling it out only to sink back inside of her with his ring finger and setting a slow, thrusting pace.

Emma cursed lowly under her breath and arched further into Paul, her body tightening some more. He had moved his mouth from her breasts to her neck and was dually set on sucking a purple mark into her skin. 

“Paul,” Emma moaned, and in response he nipped at the spot between her shoulder and neck. She inhaled sharply and whimpered, a magical sound, but said once more, “Paul…”

He immediately stopped and sat back up, pausing his ministrations inside of her save for very slow circles around her clit. “Hmm?”

“I want…” Emma bit her lip and looked to the side, trying to gain a steady hold on her heavy breath, “can you…” Paul quirked his lip at her flustered state.

“I’m not a mind reader, Emma,” He whispered, enjoying this strange state of power as he leaned forward and nipped at her earlobe.

Emma let out a light huff, “Just an exorcist.” She brought Paul’s face to her own, her palms on his cheeks as she narrowed her gaze at him. “I want you inside of me, Paul Matthews.”

Ah, there went the power balance. A hot blush rose to Paul’s cheeks and Emma smirked, leaning up and kissing him. Her hands skimmed down his bare chest and tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants, the other one palming him through the layers. Paul groaned into the kiss and reached down to help Emma push off his sweatpants and boxers, kicking them onto the floor. He sat up when he had, gulping at the way Emma’s eyes ran hungrily up and down his body. He leaned over the bed to the nightstand, reaching into the drawer and pulling out a condom.

Emma smiled a teasing smile as he tore open the wrapper, watching Paul through her eyelashes. He clenched his jaw as her fingers wrapped around him and tugged gently before taking the condom from him and rolling it on by herself.

“Emma,” He exhaled, his hands balling the sheets beside her head, knuckles turning white. Her smile grew.

“Your eyes are doing the thing again,” Emma whispered. Paul narrowed his gaze, trying to clear his foggy mind. Now that she’d mentioned it, Paul could feel the golden static thrumming under his skin, tangling with the pleasure and sleep and adoration that coursed through his body. Emma raised one hand to Paul’s cheek, stroking his skin with the pad of her thumb. He smiled softly down at her, bringing his hand to cover her own as he tilted his head into her touch. 

Emma ran her fingertips along the inside of his thigh and Paul’s chest tightened. “I thought you wanted me inside you?” He asked, his voice strained to a degree that seemed to amuse her.

“I’m enjoying this,” was the snarked reply as Emma bit her lip to hold back her smile. Paul let out a scoff. The hand holding Emma’s on his cheek fell slightly, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist and pushing the hand roughly into the mattress. She exhaled sharply, and Paul lowered his body further into hers, readying himself at her entrance.

Emma’s smirk immediately contorted into an open-mouthed gape, and her eyes clouded with lust as her freed hand raised to grip Paul’s shoulder. She nodded in confirmation, and he pushed into her with a slow exhale. Emma released a very light moan as he pulled out and pushed in once more, deeper this time. 

“Fuck,” Emma cursed under her breath, her chin tilting up and eyes falling shut. Paul exhaled shakily and gripped her hip with his free hand, setting a slow, intense pace, letting them both get lost in the feeling. She was everything, absolutely everything. Paul’s head fell onto her shoulder and he kissed the hot skin under his as he thrusted and Emma’s back arched up into him with a breathy whimper. 

He could feel his magic pulsing through his body, a strange but exciting sensation that only served to heighten every small aspect that Paul noticed. Emma’s breath was so heavy in her chest and her fingernails dug sharply into his back. She mouthed silent words but still his name was a thin whisper on her lips, the only coherent thing slipping from her mouth. Her one leg had wrapped around Paul’s back and while he moaned at the deeper angle, Emma flexed her pinned wrist in his grasp and tightened her hand in a reflex to grab onto something, anything.

While Paul had satisfyingly decided he wouldn’t allow her that, the hand that held tightly onto her hip slid down between them and pressed hard circles against her clit. Another string of colorful curses spilled from Emma’s lips, at first understandable but soon lost to unintelligible, strained muttering. 

Pleasure rose like a cresting wave inside of Paul, and he could feel that Emma, too, was close. He set a faster pace, holding back his release with determination to see Emma through hers, and was soon rewarded with just this. Her body tensed, wrapping closer into Paul as a long, soft groan streamed from her lips. After a few moments of Paul thrusting softly, Emma relaxed, her loud breath hard in her chest. Only then did Paul allow himself to let go of his hold on himself. Pleasure flashed brightly in his vision and he muffled his moan with an insistent kiss to Emma’s mouth.

As the feeling passed, he pulled back, his gaze meeting hers. They watched each other for a few moments, both trying to steady their breathing, drinking in the glowing moments of each other for just a bit longer, stretching the inevitable into forgotten and forever. They were everything, basking in the sunlight that had melted from soft poppy red into a brighter morning gold.

“Good morning, wolfy,” Paul said finally, breaking the silence.

Emma grinned and kissed him once more, whispering, “Good morning, witch.”

Paul Matthews could love Emma Perkins, love her smile, love her laugh, love her in every crevice of every golden day and every impossible moment of every moonlit night. He could love Emma with every bit of himself that he had to offer. 

As he watched her adorable half-grin linger softly on her lips and her dark chocolate gaze pour into his, watching the bright electric blue slowly seep from it, the searing thought crossed dully across his mind that maybe he already did.    
  


Maybe he always had.

Maybe.


	16. oblivion (epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grimes song to celebrate her and her new baby god reincarnate
> 
> Last chapter
> 
> *whispers* parent paulkins rights ?

It took Paul Matthews six and a half years to get Emma Perkins to marry him.

They stayed in Hatchetfield but traveled often, backpacked for two years around Guatemala for Emma and ventured off to Bolivia, China, Samoa, Mexico, Scotland, and Senegal for Paul when he got the motivation to start a notebook of his own and learn more about his own Gift and about magic in a grander and broader spectrum then he could have ever imagined.

The two got married after Senegal. It was quiet as all hell, consisting of Paul nervously presenting Emma with a powerfully infused moonstone ring in between two pink tourmaline gems (Paul’s October 11th birthstone), all, of course, nestled in a rose gold band. He’d been carrying it around for three years. Emma agreed on the promise that they have either a very small ceremony or no ceremony at all. Paul was, of course, completely fine with this. They signed legal documents and had milkshakes at their shitty little diner.

They found J in Nevada.

Emma had always wanted to hike the Grand Canyon, and the thought of following the ancient, magic infused pathways that cut through the canyon was too tempting for Paul to decline.

It was in Arizona on a howling full moon night that Paul felt it. An intense magical pull, unlike any other he’d felt before. He couldn’t sleep for days and felt uneasy, every bone in his body telling him to follow it. They’d only hiked the canyon for three days before Paul couldn’t take it anymore, and mostly for his own safety the two followed it.

Antelope Canyon, Nevada was a very strange place full of tiny roadside towns with people who either talked too much or didn’t talk at all. Emma murmured that they were being watched almost every half hour, and while Paul usually would have been able to feel it as well, his entire magical hard drive had seemingly been short circuited by the overwhelming pull of magic that they followed.

The Navajo locals that did talk to them seemed to understand exactly what Paul was asking for. Local myths, legends, anything. Only a few were willing to answer his question, but the words from their mouth detailed a child of the shadows that stalked through the empty alleyways of the towns and found home in the barren Antelope Canyon.

With little explanation but a very strong scent, Emma followed where Paul led. It took them 24 hours to find the child.

The child sat in a brook, a dead trout by their side.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” they said, their words soft in their mouth. Such an intense energy surrounded them that even Emma could feel it, like a beating drum that thrummed in the marrow of her bones.

The child couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen years old. They were Navajo, their hair a long tangle of rich, inky black and their eyes the color of wet soil. They introduced themself only as J.

When Paul asked what exactly they were, an uncomfortable look fell over their face. “I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t know anything about myself. I don’t… remember.”

Paul and Emma spent four weeks with J in Nevada, as the child seemed to have been lured by the magic energies of the two of them in a similar way that Paul had. They tried to teach Paul about their powers, but seemed to have less of an understanding about them than Paul did. All any of them knew was that they were powerful and uncontrolled.

Paul gave J the notebook he’d been working on for the past six years and J spent hours pouring over its contents in a way stirringly familiar to the way Paul had in his mother’s attic as a kid. It seemed only natural that when Paul and Emma finally left Nevada, J went along with them.

J liked Hatchetfield and they liked Emma and Paul and they liked learning about their magic. After a year of being with Emma and Paul they were enrolled in school. J claimed that they didn’t really like school despite the gleam in their eyes when they rambled about their classes. They inhaled lessons at an astonishing speed and at night they worked with Paul on lessons about their magic. J taught Emma how to hunt and kill, and Emma taught J how to hunt in the woods.

J’s vibrant green energies were unlike any Paul had ever seen. They didn’t seem to entirely belong to J, as their roots stretched at such an intense capacity that it was almost blinding for Paul to look at when he did an aura check. After extensive research, the three of them settled on deciding J was an unwilling warlock. Some other god seemed to patron J and feed them their powers, despite this being out of J’s control and knowledge. The label wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do for the time being.

Another year passing, and J explained that they felt like their gender expanded past what they were using. Emma and Paul bought pronoun buttons and pride flags and “Proud Parent of a Gender-Fluid Child” t-shirts; they went far too overboard but J giggled and smiled through it all, and Emma and Paul helped them to establish different names that fit them depending on how they woke up feeling.

Above all, the three of them were happy. 

~

Waking up in Emma’s cold arms had become one of Paul’s favorite parts of the day. He was jokingly convinced that she had ice in her veins, which was fine because in stark comparison he was like a human toaster. 

Even being around Paul hadn’t torn Emma out of her “I will stay in bed until the very last acceptable minute” habits, something that J seemed to copy, so Paul had developed a routine out of making the two of them coffee in the morning before he left for work. They were both miserable without caffeine and could run an impressively raging late streak given the opportunity.

But weekends were nice. The moment Emma learned of Paul’s famed cinnamon bun recipe, they became a Saturday morning tradition. Emma’s banana pancakes on rainy days, Paul’s cinnamon buns if the weather permit.

It always put Emma in a good mood when she woke up to the smell of them. That particular morning, Paul was cracking eggs into a bowl when he felt two hands slide over his shoulders and Emma press herself against his back.

Paul hummed, “You’re up early.”

She mumbled into his back, rubbing her cheek into his shirt. “It always gets so cold when you get up.”

Paul snorted, tossing egg shells into the trash. “Yeah, I wonder why, ice queen.” He craned around and kissed the top of Emma’s head. “There’s coffee for you in the pot.” She smiled.

“You’re the best. It’s mornings like this that make me happy I married you.” Paul smirked, turning around and leaning on the counter with his arms crossed as he watched Emma pour her coffee.

“Yeah? Just the mornings?” Emma paused and set her mug down, her eyes sliding over to Paul. Holding back a grin, she closed the short distance between the two of them, running her hands up Paul’s chest and kissing him softly.

“Maybe not  _ just _ the mornings,” Emma murmured into their kiss. Paul smiled and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her deeper into him.

“No?”

Emma shook her head and settled down onto the balls of her feet, kissing Paul’s neck. “I like the afternoons, when you come home from work, and I like the nights. I really like those.” Paul laughed lightly as Emma kissed under his jaw. Light footsteps clambered down the stairs, and Emma snickered into Paul’s skin. Loudly, she said, “And I like spending time with our darling little turd.”

Emma turned around and slipped into her seat as J appeared sleepily in the kitchen, dressed in boxers and a sweater. 

“Morning, kiddo,” Emma said as she sipped from her mug. J groaned in response but kissed the top of Emma’s head as well as Paul’s cheek. They situated themselves at the other end of the table as Paul poured them coffee.

The sixteen year-old had shaved the sides of their head and taken on an undercut as well, their jet black hair now falling just past their shoulders so that they could take on a more masculine appearance with their hair tied up and a more feminine appearance when down. At the moment, it was in a lopsided bun and their face was framed by flyaways.

“What are we feeling today,” Paul asked, setting the mug down before he turned back around to keep cooking breakfast. “Jane, J, or Joey?”

“Jane,” was the tired answer. Emma smiled softly down at the table. Paul noticed. She had been the one to suggest the name.

“Don’t forget your buttons then, we’re going to the park.”

Jane smiled, “dog park?”

Emma pointed her finger at her, “you’re funny, dingbat. Keep it up.”

Paul smiled as he whisked. “Emma and I are going hunting tonight. How does rabbit sound?”

“Do I get to go with you guys?” Jane asked, smiling brightly.

“Oh no,” Paul replied, “tonight’s a full moon. You get to stay inside.”

Jane groaned and stood up, rummaging through the refrigerator for whipped cream. “It’s just a rabbit, I’ll be fine,” she muttered as she sprayed some into her coffee.

Emma hummed, snatching the whipped cream bottle and copying her. “Yeah, you say that and then we’re dragging you unconscious out of a crater you’ve formed in the middle of the forest. You have research to do, anyway, you’re going to be most able to reach out to whatever patron god has chosen you tonight. Maybe you’ll make progress.”

Jane huffed and wiped whipped cream from her upper lip. “They never communicate with me, full moon or not. You make me sound like some sort of ‘chosen one.’”

“You’re not special because you have powers you don’t understand, kid,” Emma said, quietly, reaching over the table to grasp Jane’s hand, “you’re special because you taught me to put whipped cream in my coffee. Damn, that’s good.”

Jane laughed and scratched the back of her head. “Alright, alright. I have calc homework, anyway.” 

Emma squeezed Jane’s hand and Paul took a break from his cooking to kiss her cheek. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know, I know,” Jane muttered, waving Paul off dismissively, though a smile lingered on her lips.

“We love you, Jane,” Emma said. She grinned and rolled her eyes, sipping from her mug to stifle her smile.

“I love you guys, too.”

~

The light of the full moon was bright and clear, slicing through the crisp night with the sharpness of a glinting knife. Paul watched the forest from his place on a lower branch of a tree, his crossbow raised to his cheek as his glowing blue eyes traced the forest floor.

There was a rustling, and Paul flinched to the side, his finger hovering over the trigger. A rabbit scratched its nose, twitching. Paul’s gaze narrowed and he shifted slightly. The branch he was perched on cracked slightly and the rabbit tensed, stiffened, and took off into the forest.

Paul cursed under his breath and leapt off of the branch, using his levitation powers to propel him onto the next tree, and then another until he was leaping swiftly above the rabbit. It finally began to slow down and Paul paused on a thick branch, raising the crossbow to his cheek. He inhaled slowly, the pad of his finger beginning to press down on the trigger as he followed the rabbit, when there was suddenly a blur of grey and the rabbit was gone.

Paul sighed quietly and softly slipped to the ground. He could feel the familiar prickle at the back of his neck that told him he was being watched and he turned slowly, the crossbow pointed at the ground as he watched the darkened forest. Even with the moonlight, Paul was still squinting to find a familiar pair of silver blue eyes or the white tail of a rabbit in the shadows.

A twig snapped behind him, and Paul began to whip around. He was too late.

He was tackled to the ground from behind, somersaulting across the forest floor with a grunt. Paul groaned as he landed on his back, and there was a bright light before his eyes opened to find Emma on top of him. Her palms pushed down on his chest and she straddled him, a triumphant smile across her lips.

“Got you,” Emma laughed. Paul coughed lightly.

“Bit of a rough landing, though,” he groaned. Emma blinked innocently and tilted her chin towards her chest, watching Paul through her eyelashes.

“Is the little witch hurt?” She leaned forward with her elbows resting on Paul’s chest.

He scoffed, his hands gripping Emma’s hips as he rolled them around so that she was under him, laughing. Paul smiled and shook his head, kissing her lightly. “You’re really something, you know?”

“Of course I know,” Emma said with a happy smile as she slung her arms over Paul’s shoulders, “I would have to be something to be able to have snagged the likes of you.”

“Ah,” Paul hummed, planting his lips softly against Emma’s cheek and digging his fingernails into the grass underneath him. “Of course. My apologies.” He kissed her once more, a soft, long, lingering kiss. He could feel the contrasting energies of the moonstone ring and the intense light of the moonbeams swirling around her and pushing through him. A strange, intoxicating feeling. Completely hers. Paul marveled in it.

Emma looked slightly perturbed when Paul pulled back and he tilted his head. “Something wrong?”

She looked to the side, the moonlight stretching the shadows across her face at sharp, beautiful angles. “Should we…” Emma trailed off and she gulped, “when did you think we should tell Jane that she’s… that she’s not a warlock?”

Paul sighed softly and sat back, pulling Emma with him into a sitting position. She leaned back on her palms, her fingertips flexing into the cold, dark grass. “I mean, it’s not like we can just drop ‘I think you’re probably the reincarnation of an ancient and powerful diety’ on her. At least, not until we know what diety she is.” 

Emma nodded tentatively and dropped back down on the grass, sighing as she closed her eyes and drank in the energies of the moon. Paul took her hand in his, rubbing the back with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m just worried about her.”

“I know.”

“She’s so… so  _ powerful _ . I feel useless.”

Paul smiled lightly, “to be fair, we both were useless when we were left on our own to figure out our powers for ourselves. At least she has us.” Emma turned over on her side, her hands playing mindlessly with Paul’s fingers.

“Neither of us were possibly god-reincarnates.”

“That’s true but… that doesn’t make our feelings any less valid. I was confused and frustrated, you were alone and scared. We found each other, and now look at us. Look at  _ you _ . Literally basking in the full light of the moon and completely in control of your shapeshifting. If we could help each other then who’s to say we can’t help an ancient diety of a child.”

Emma smiled gently at Paul and, reaching up and pulling him down by the front of his grey sweater, kissed him, sighing softly against his skin. She pulled back and opened her mouth to speak when suddenly, a huge crashing sound came from somewhere deep within the forest.

Emma and Paul exchanged a glance. They could feel the shifting balance of energies, amplified in the full moon. Coming closer to them was something powerful and blazing.

A silhouette hovered in the air in a thick cloud of vibrant green energies that Paul barely needed to tap into his Gift to see. It was still, and then without much grace but a whole lot of confidence came crashing to the forest floor. Emma winced and Paul sighed, shaking his head.

Jane groaned and stood up, wiping leaves from her flannel. She shot a grin towards Emma and Paul, who both stared at her in a largely unimpressed manner. She held up the corpse of a rabbit.

“You guys let it get away.”

“Did a tree fall down?”

Jane shrugged and scowled, “I caught this rabbit all by myself and you’re concerned with whether or not I accidentally barreled into a tree and knocked it over with the sheer, crushing power of my own energies? For shame.”

Emma snickered and Paul shook his head. “Congratulations, Jane, dear.”

“Ignoring the sarcastic undertones, are we going to feast?”

Emma smirked, standing up, “Are you going to figure out how to stop making trees fall down?”

“If I run into a tree in my excitement of catching a rabbit and it doesn’t make a sound, did it even fall over in the first place?”

“I don’t think that’s how that goes,” Paul snorted as he followed suit.

Emma laughed as Jane startled, “what do you mean, that’s exactly how that goes.” She wrapped her arm around Jane on one side and Paul the other. 

They laughed loudly through the sharp moonlight and shifting shadows as they began walking home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your support. ❤️ Wild


End file.
